The Adventures of Pocahontas and John Rolfe
by Spidersting
Summary: This story picks up where the sequel left off. Pocahontas and John Rolfe are on the ship back to Virginia to spend the rest of their lives together. What they stumble upon instead are a series of adventures and misadventures. Together, they discover that the road to happily-ever-after is paved with many obstacles. Characters and universe owned by Disney.
1. The Blood Draw

**The Adventures of Pocahontas and John Rolfe**

Chapter 1: The Blood Draw

The sunlight lingered on the horizon as the ship sailed through calm waters, heading westward. The peace was broken again when Meeko loosed his stomach contents over the bow of the ship for the fifth or sixth time. Pocahontas looked concerned, as her furry friend was looking thinner and thinner by the day. The raccoon normally had quite a large appetite, but he seemed repelled of food lately.

John Rolfe walked up behind Pocahontas. He had a look of concern on his face as he placed a hand on her shoulder, gently alerting her to his presence. "He'll be alright, Pocahontas," he said. "We'll make landfall any day now."

It was late summer and the winds had been unusually kind throughout the journey. Storms had been frequent, but relatively minor. It seemed that some supernatural force was smiling upon them during the return voyage, though Pocahontas still felt impatient about the length of it. She just wanted to get home.

Pocahontas turned to glance at Rolfe and smiled lightly. His voice had been her source of reason and assurance for the last few months. Homesickness had been her constant companion throughout the seemingly endless months of the trip to England. She had no one to talk to regularly, as her brother-in-law Uttamatomakkin had taken an unexplained oath of silence until the beginning of the summer season. She suspected it had something to do with a lost bet, but was not inclined to say anything.

When Meeko's stomach seemed to calm a bit, he went back to moping miserably around the lower deck. Pocahontas twiddled her fingers as she tried to think of how to express her concerns from the last three months. She and Rolfe had not discussed the future, despite their sharing numerous romantic kisses since the dawn of the voyage. The magical M-word had never come up.

_Marriage_… Pocahontas thought to herself. She wondered why he had not asked her yet. Maybe he did not really intend to marry her. The discordant thought dwelled within the pit of her stomach as she stared blankly down at the frothing saltwater. She was afraid to voice the question because somehow the thought of rejection was unbearable. Plus, was it even considered proper for a woman to bring the subject up first?

On the other hand, she was charmed by his clear intention not to dishonor her. They had separate cabins on the ship and his advances on her had not gone beyond kissing on the hand, cheek, and lips, and hugging. His attraction to her was clear, yet he maintained a perfect gentlemanly distance.

In the back of her mind, Pocahontas wondered how he could stand it. He seemed to wear his heart on his sleeve at times, but at others his thoughts seemed impressively well guarded. The latter event would make Pocahontas desperately wonder what was going on in his head.

As she was absorbed in her thoughts, the diplomat gently lifted her chin and kissed her for the umpteenth time that day. She kissed him back almost passionately before she remembered it wise to hold back. As they pulled apart, the word "John…" slipped from her lips before she could stop it.

It was not the name itself but the tone with which she had said it that led Rolfe to the realization she had something serious on her mind—other than Meeko's wellbeing, of course. He held one of her slighter hands in both of his as he politely inquired, "What's the matter, my dear?"

She softly pulled away and placed her hands on the railing of the ship. Hesitant at first, she finally managed to follow up with a reply. "I was just wondering… what's going to happen when we get back?" she murmured.

Rolfe smiled widely. "I'm glad you asked, Pocahontas," he said, pulling the King's sealed order out of his satchel. He tapped himself on the forehead with it and then pointed it at her. "We are going to forge a lasting peace, is what we're going to do. No more of this troubling instability in the relations between your people and the settlers. The laws laid out in this document will ensure that." He finished and smiled broadly, as if he had answered her question to perfection.

To his surprise, she frowned. Pocahontas was well aware of the plan. She had watched the King's scribe draft the order herself, as she had watched the King add his signature to it. That was when the obvious occurred to Rolfe. "Oh," he murmured, flushing slightly as he glanced down at the deck. He poked his fingers together nervously. "You meant… beyond that?"

When she nodded coyly, Rolfe cleared his throat. "Right, right. Well, my dear. That all depends upon your father," he explained, trying to sound affirmative. When he saw her frown again, he mirrored the expression. "Not confident he'll say yes, are you?"

Pocahontas shrugged. "I don't know. If he said no, I don't think I could bear it." She leaned her elbows down on the tall railing and ran her hands through her long hair.

"Not to worry," Rolfe replied, sticking the King's document back in his satchel. "For I have a plan." Pocahontas looked up at him with a quizzical expression. "It's not foolproof," he added, "but it should increase our chances significantly."

Pocahontas turned to face him fully, interested. He took hold of her hand again as he spoke. "I propose that when we get there, we do not mention this at first. It would be wise to give your father time to get used to my presence, get to know me a little more. Then after a while, when peace has been established and we feel more confident about his response, I'll go ask him if I can marry you. I think the key is patience, my dear. Patience. Besides, the Rolfe family has a tradition of long engagements. It's in our blood."

Pocahontas suppressed the urge to frown a third time. Patience was not her strong suit, it never had been. But she gave Rolfe a forced smile regardless to show her confidence in his idea, if nothing else. At least they were on the same page now. She was enormously relieved to discover that he did in fact have every intention to make her his wife, if her people allowed it. Hundreds of other resultant questions bubbled up in her brain, but it was too early to ask or even ponder extensively on them. They needed a yes or no from the Great Chief first, or it would all be for naught.

Flit emerged from the cabins below and darted around them to the starboard side of the ship. Forming in the distance was a heavy mass of clouds, brought to their attention by the small ruby-throated hummingbird's sudden arrival. Flit seemed to intuitively sense the coming storm from inside the ship, and he zipped around frantically to assess the situation. It was not a good sign, as Rolfe and Pocahontas saw a flash of light beneath the formation, followed by a deep but distant rumbling.

"Looks like we're going to have a spot of rain," the Englishman said nonchalantly. His attempt at making light of the situation failed as he could see the muscles in Pocahontas's throat contract.

Overhearing the conversation, Captain Blackwell strutted over. "Is that not the understatement of the week, Mr. Rolfe? Looks like we're in for some rough weather, indeed," he said with a chuckle, flicking out his pocket telescope. "Aye," he murmured as he observed the approaching storm through the polished lens. "We won't be able to outpace her. She's comin' in fast."

"Nonsense, Captain. Don't worry, Pocahontas. These are some of the finest sailors England has to offer. I'm sure they can steer us through any maelstrom the sea might whip up," Rolfe countered, crossing his arms defiantly.

"I thank you your confidence, Mr. Rolfe. We'll do our very best, that's for certain," Blackwell replied, before plodding down to the lower deck and shouting a bunch of orders at the crew. The sailors spurred to life and shuffled around the deck to prepare the ship as fast as possible.

"Come along, dear. Let's get down below before the rain starts," Rolfe said, taking a hold of her arm.

For a moment Pocahontas did not respond, as she stared into the dark belly of the storm. The wind whipped her hair into a frenzy, though she hardly noticed as she barely mouthed the words, "_Angry spirits_…"

Rolfe was forced to hold onto his red hat to prevent the powerful gust from tearing it away. He gave her a quizzical look, and waved his hand in front of her face to get her attention. "Pocahontas, dear? Are you alright?"

Pocahontas blinked in surprise and turned to John as she snapped out of her stupor. "Yeah, I think so," she replied, a bit shaken. She felt she had almost had a vision, and that concerned her. But there was no sense in worrying about something one could do nothing about, so she hurriedly followed him below deck as the first heavy droplets slapped the mast of the ship.

…

Pocahontas and Rolfe hunkered down in the mess deck to await the storm's passing. The common areas were far from stunning for a simple supply ship. While their private cabins were rather nice due to Rolfe's social status, he refused to spend time with her in them lest harmful rumors concerning their relationship crop up (God forbid such rumors should make it back to the Chief of the Powhatan tribe).

The Cabin Boy brought them mugs of ale, though neither were particular fans of the beverage. As the voyage neared its end, the ship had run out of fresh water. Hopefully more would be caught in the new rainstorm above.

While Meeko was out for the count in Pocahontas's cabin, Percy and Flit were glad to provide them company for the ride. The two came into the room, relieved that the place was mostly empty for once. Sailors shuffled around up above, their footsteps rattling the planks now and again. As it turned out, the mess deck could be a nice place to be without a lot of drunken crewmen singing annoyingly loud songs and stepping on tails and paws.

Rolfe stared into his mug of ale with a slight look of dissatisfaction on his face. He had half a mind to go back up top and stare up at the sky with his mouth open for some water, but he knew he would look silly. Plus, he did not wish to distract the sailors.

Pocahontas pushed her mug away, yawning. "I think I'm going to turn in early," she murmured, rubbing her eyes. She was unusually exhausted. Anticipating the return home with glee, they had stayed up late the night before talking about everything from their respective childhoods, to fairytales, to the English art of stage acting.

"I'll probably follow you soon enough," Rolfe replied, trying to take another sip of the acrid beverage. He gave up and pushed it away. If it were not for the distracting rocking of the ship, he would have gone back to his cabin to pen more into his journals. As he had requested to return to Virginia, the King had given him a new but important duty. He was to observe, record, and draw anything and everything in the New World for placement into the prestigious royal archives.

It seemed if James had to send one of the most educated men in his kingdom to a small trading colony for keeps, he still preferred to make use of him in whatever ways possible. Hence, Rolfe was to become an archivist. It was not a bad proposition, as the man had always enjoyed writing and drawing in his spare time. So far, he had recorded to the T all the stories Pocahontas had told him about the mythology of her people. He had drawn her, as well as Meeko and Flit, and was looking forward to all the fascinating flora and fauna he was sure to find in Virginia.

Unfortunately, the motion of the big storm waves did not help to steady his hand. He could not even read a book or he would be sure to develop a headache in due time. Rolfe sighed and forced a bit more of the ale down to keep hydrated before getting up. He almost fell on his rump as another wave crashed into the side of the ship, sending him stumbling around. He grabbed a hold of the nearby doorframe to regain his footing and clumsily made his way up the stairs. It would not be a bad idea to check the status of the storm with the crew.

…

Back in her cabin, Pocahontas settled into bed. While she normally found English mattresses uncomfortable, the stormy waves had a way of rocking her to sleep. Her discussion with Rolfe had somehow taken her mind off of her worries and made her feel more assured of his devotion, so it did not take long for her to drift off.

At peace, she began to imagine the days ahead, when the tensions between the settlers and natives would hopefully vanish for good. In a colorful whirlwind, she suddenly found herself back in the carefree days of her childhood, before her mother's untimely death. Standing by the calm waters of her village, she viewed her reflection as that of a ten-year-old girl. She leaned down and touched the surface of the water with a finger to see if it felt real, and it did. As the ripples grew outward, a second face appeared in the water behind her.

"Wasn't there something you wanted to show me, Pocahontas?" Rolfe inquired, leaning over and giving her an odd look on account of her fascination with the ripples. He was about the same age as she, a realistic version of the young boy in the paintings she had seen in the full-grown man's London townhouse. As she looked up at him, he smiled down at her. "You said you wanted to show me something," he said in a young-sounding voice.

She giggled and splashed him, earning some laughter from him in turn as he held up his hands. She stood up and grabbed him, intent on dragging him off to play. He followed quite readily, running after her through the groves and the forest. With spring in full bloom, the two children rolled in the grass, swam in the river, played in the gully, climbed trees, and ate fresh mulberries. They even played some of her favorite games, such as Hunter's Trap, The Tricky Fox, and The Adventures of Glooskap. John played the hero, of course. Pocahontas enjoyed the more mischievous roles.

At the end of every day, Pocahontas routinely ended up at Grandmother Willow's grove. This day was no different. She climbed up the gnarled roots, glancing over her shoulder to see that John was following. "Where are we going now?" he asked.

"I want to introduce you to someone," Pocahontas said, pulling him up once she had reached the top of the stump.

"But there's nobody here but us," John replied, looking around as he reached the top. The sounds of the forest stopped as the birds fell silent, and a sudden gust of wind gave Pocahontas an unexpected chill.

When she turned to face Grandmother Willow, the old woman's face appeared in the bark as expected. Instead of the kind expression she usually wore however, the face looked terrified. _"Pocahontas, wake up! You are in danger, child!"_ the old tree spirit cried as the sky turned blood red through the canopy leaves.

Pocahontas's heart thundered as she looked at John, who was equally frightened as her, and grabbed a hold of him. They held onto each other as the earth began to quake and both cried out in terror. A frightful wind fueled by angry spirits blew again and Rolfe's face morphed into its adult form as the man shook her awake.

"Pocahontas, wake up! We're under attack!" the Englishman cried, pulling her out of bed.

The young woman felt her heart pounding in her chest as she awoke in a fearful frenzy. "Wha… what's going on?" she slurred in a state of grogginess. She found herself whisked up off of the floor into his strong arms as he carried her out of the room—Meeko, Percy, and Flit in hot pursuit.

"Pirates, Pocahontas. It's the Blood Draw. There's too many of them and we can't fight. We have only one chance to survive, but you'll have to do precisely as I say. Remember what I told you about English stage acting?" Rolfe coached as her ears fully awoke to the sounds of swords clashing above. Men screamed and men howled in wicked laughter. One side was losing, and John apparently knew precisely which.

Before she knew it, Pocahontas found that John had carried her all the way down to the empty brig on the lowest level of the ship. He placed her on her bare feet on the chilly, wet, muddy floor and dropped a large bag he had been carrying on his back beside him, ruffling through it frantically.

Pocahontas shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. She had fallen asleep in her buckskin dress, though she had kicked off her moccasins. Rolfe pushed her arms up over her head as he produced a dreaded garment—a corset.

"I know you hate these, my dear, but we have to make you look as much like a man as possible. Which is not going to my easy, I'm afraid," he instructed. He wrapped the item around her torso. Instead of tightening it around her waist to accentuate her femininity, however, he tightened it quite a bit around her breasts and left her waist relatively loose. He wrapped her behind as well with a separate binding before pulling a shirt and a pair of trousers out of his sack. "Put these on. Quickly," he said.

She did as he asked, almost falling over herself in the rush to get the men's clothing on. He readily assisted her by holding her upright. "It's alright, dear. The fight is still going on. They won't be raiding the lower levels for a few minutes still," he said in a reassuring manner.

When the trousers were up, he helped her slip the shirt over her head. He tucked it in a bit around her waist, leaving some hanging in the back, and shoved her bare feet into oversized men's boots. "Alright, the thing I have to do next is probably something you're not going to like. Pocahontas," he said, turning her to face him. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to cut off your hair."

Pocahontas gasped, taking a hold of the black mane that she had grown so fond of over the years. An unbearable question welled up within her: Would he still think her beautiful without it? The anxiety grew like a sickness in the pit of her stomach, but her fear of the attackers overwhelmed it by far. She gulped deeply and, with tears in her eyes, nodded. Rolfe pivoted her around without hesitation. She could hear him draw his blade and felt his hand twist her hair into a firm knot. Before she knew it, her head felt light as a feather. She turned around to see him toss the ebony locks in a privy barrel, effectively hiding the evidence where no one would look.

He returned to her side. "Now give me your necklace. I'll put it with the King's order for safe-keeping." She did as he asked, and he stuck the treasured item into the satchel, and hid the satchel itself below a loose floorboard. The screams from above had finally ceased, and the clatter of footsteps and hoots of victory could be heard invading the lower levels of the ship.

He turned to her with a slightly alarmed expression. "They're coming. It's time for your first serious acting lesson, Pocahontas," he said as he shoved her into one of the cells, closing the iron bolt behind them.

She heard a rip as he tore his own fine silk collar in two, and then observed as he bent down to gather some of the filthy, muddy mess off the floor. He smeared it all over his face and clothes. "These pirates are sworn enemies of the English. We are prisoners of the ship, traitors to the throne of King James. We hate him and we want him dead. You are the son of Powhatan, sent back to the colonies to be executed in sight of your father as a first act of war. I'm to be executed as well for assisting you. When the pirates arrive, we give them a hero's welcome. We beg parlay and ask the Captain permission to join his crew," he said, gathering more mud and smearing it on her this time.

Rolfe continued, "Now we need to look as dirty and ill-treated as possible. Put on your most miserable, wretched face. Remember, you are a man. So choose a man's name from your tribe and introduce yourself as such. We can pretend your English is poor so you do not have to do much of the talking. If you witness brutality, even against me, you must do whatever it takes not to cry out, or even flinch. At the first chance we have, we'll escape the pirates and search for a ship back to Virginia. Understood?"

"John, I don't know if I can!" Pocahontas cried, her knees trembling.

"Yes, you can. I _know_ you can. You can do anything. If you can convince a powerful King that peace is the right path, then there's nothing you cannot do," he countered, gathering her remaining hair and forcing it into a dirty hat. He stood back and observed her. "Hm. Well, if not a man, you could certainly pass as a young boy, fourteen to seventeen, perhaps," he noted. "That should take a bit of the pressure off of you, darling. Now, let's sit. Let me do the talking. I've had more practice with theatrics."

"What about Meeko, Percy, and Flit? Will they be killed?" Pocahontas suddenly inquired, the fear returning.

"Not likely," he quickly replied, settling next to her. "They usually take animals as pets, or sell them—especially exotic ones. It's our own skins we need to worry about."

Pocahontas gulped, but nodded. The three animals in the room did the same.

Boisterous noise could be heard just outside the door. "They're coming! Get ready!" John instructed. Pocahontas stooped down, trying to look as much like a lethargic, underfed, hopeless prisoner as possible. Flit made himself scarce—his small size giving him a notable advantage. Meanwhile, Meeko squeezed through the bars and copied Pocahontas's demeanor. Percy, on the other hand, just hid in an empty barrel, whimpering slightly.

…

The door shuddered moments before two menacing men burst into the room, followed by two others bearing lanterns. "Aye, what have we here, then?" came a sinister voice. Looking up, Rolfe recognized the speaker immediately from the horrifying tales of the man's deeds as they had been told in London. Word had it that since the Blood Draw did not leave survivors, some of the boldest crewmembers had taken it upon themselves to be seen in the flesh on occasion so that rumors would abound. They staked their cutthroat careers on their reputations. Finley Flame was one of these vile men.

Plain old 'Flame' was the hideous Quartermaster's fabled nickname, on account of the burn injury he proudly bore scarring half his face. It had also robbed him of half a head of Irish-red hair, but he made no attempt to cover the disfigurement. On the gnarled side of his face, his ice-blue right eye leered at them in a predatory manner, sending a shiver down Pocahontas's spine.

Rolfe uttered a feigned gasp and jumped to his feet, the look of surprise on his face eerily convincing. "Sir, can it be that we are in the honored presence of Finley Flame, legendary Quartermaster of the Blood Draw?" the Englishman uttered, appearing star-struck as he clung to the prison bars.

The fiend could scarcely suppress a flattered grin. "Aye, that you are, lad. Heard of me, have you? And who might you be? You have the appearance of British gentry. What is a man of your stature doing muddied and miserable in the deep, dark brig?" the man inquired, a sure tone of curiosity in his rasping voice.

"Please, do not remind me of the life of delusion I once lived. I am a traitor to the throne of England. My companion and I," Rolfe gestured to the copper-skinned 'boy' on the floor beside him, "we were to be shipped back to the colonies for public execution. He is the son of a great chief with whom the King of England intends to make battle. James wanted the boy executed within sight of his father, as a commencing act of war. I sided with the boy, and was deemed a traitor."

"And your name?" Flame inquired, sheathing his sword. The three mangy accomplices followed suit—a good omen, thought Rolfe.

"John Rolfe, sir. Or it was. I should like a change of name, as I no longer honor my origins," he replied. "Might I humbly request a parlay with the great Captain Bleud? If he sees fit to spare our unworthy lives, we would be eager to join the crew. We will work hard, as we want nothing more than to wreak havoc on the accursed English. How much we envy your liberated lifestyle cannot be expressed in mere words, my dear man."

Flame shifted a hand through his short, scraggly red beard, considering the request. The hesitation was only a show—Rolfe could tell the plan had already succeeded, at least with these four. Even in his request for parlay, the diplomat had played all his cards right. Most captives that were not killed straightaway outright demanded the right of parlay, thus insulting their lower-ranking hosts. Rolfe humbled himself before a man he despised in order to win his favor, and indeed he had. All they had left to do now was convince the barbarous Captain himself.

"Very well, lad. I'll take you to see the Captain, but I should like to know the Indian prince's name first, if it is pronounceable," Flame replied, observing the 'boy' with a look of dark curiosity.

"Come along, lad," Rolfe said in an enthusiastic voice, turning to Pocahontas. He offered her a hand, which she took, and subsequently gasped slightly as he hauled her to her feet with a jolt. He was treating her like another male, and she was unaccustomed to the lack of delicacy. However, she followed his lead and suppressed her surprise as much as possible for survival's sake.

"Me, Tomtom," Pocahontas said in a deeper than normal voice, going along with Rolfe's idea to pretend her English was poor. As Rolfe had suggested, she preferred to speak as little as possible. She had never in her life been in such a situation as this, and it was more than a little terrifying.

"Tomtom, eh?" Flame echoed.

Rolfe nodded, hiding his relief at how well Pocahontas had taken to the role. "Yes, Prince Tomtom. Still learning his English," he noted, "but he's a clever lad nonetheless. He'll catch on soon enough, rest assured."

One of the other pirates, a bald man with a massive scar running diagonally down his face, was the next to speak. The bridge of his nose appeared to have been sheared in half at one point, making his voice sound slightly nasal. "I like it," the man said. "Nice and short."

Flame nodded. "Aye, a good name it is. Sounds almost like a Thomas, does it not?" he commented.

Rolfe smiled. "Indeed, it does."

"And that strange creature, what is it?" Flame inquired, pointing to Meeko.

Rolfe looked down, surprised. "Oh, that is something called a 'raccoon.' It is from Tomtom's native land. Look at the bands around its eyes. Would make a lovely bandit or pirate, don't you think? It's a very clever type of animal, almost like a monkey!"

Flame leaned over to get a better look. "Yes, I should certainly like to show it to the Captain at some point," he murmured. "However, it does not look so well. Is the beast ill?" the Quartermaster inquired, poking at Meeko's rump through the bars with the tip of his boot. Meeko shifted a bit, but was too lethargic to react much.

"A bit of food poisoning, is all. The wretched crew tried to feed us a bowl of spoiled oysters that they didn't want. Tomtom and I were wise enough not to eat it, but the animal was very hungry. However, raccoons are known to be quite hardy. He should most certainly recover in due time," Rolfe replied.

The Quartermaster nodded. "Right, then," he announced, turning to one of his shipmates. "Spike-Eyes, bring me the cell keys. We are to parlay these unfortunate prisoners with the Captain immediately."

The origin of the aforementioned man's name was no mystery—for he bore what looked like numerous large rose thorns pierced through the skin around his eyes. He was the tallest one there, and the most muscular and fierce-looking. Spike-Eyes muttered not a syllable and turned to go carry out the Quartermaster's order.

When they were freed from the brig, Flame slung an arm roughly around Rolfe's neck in a chummy manner, pulling the slightly taller man's head down to his level. He tousled the young Englishman's hair. "Should Captain Bleud consent to your design, lad, I should like to take you under my wing. Your smooth face be far too unmarred for a man over twenty on road to the pirate's life. I'll help roughen ye a bit so the other men won't eat you up alive and spit you out again."

Rolfe blushed. "That would be much appreciated," he replied hesitantly, trying to suppress a nervous impulse.

Pocahontas frowned slightly. She did not like to see Flame manhandling Rolfe's face, clapping him on the cheek as he did in a fraternal gesture. Though Rolfe seemed to be handling the treatment just fine, Pocahontas was far from enthused at the thought of his face becoming any less 'unmarred.' She felt a seed of anxiety well up in her stomach as they climbed the stairs to the upper levels of the captured ship.

Flame chitchatted with Rolfe on the way up, explaining the rules of the pirate's life to the two of them. In the process, Pocahontas learned that the fearsome Captain Bleud was just above at the helm. The realization that they would meet him in the flesh any minute forced her to focus. Their lives depended upon his response to their request, so she would have to be at the top of her game.

…

The boisterous noise of drunken men grew louder as they neared the deck. Flame hurrahed as they emerged up top, joining the pirates' victory chant. It was then that Pocahontas spotted the burly man, a pirate who stood above all the rest at the helm. She could see cruelty in his eyes to a degree others could not, and her blood ran cold. She glanced over at Rolfe, who did not appear to be outwardly afraid.

Suddenly the smell hit her—the scent of blood was thick in the air, and she felt a sticky liquid tack under the oversized boots Rolfe had given her. The nausea was almost unbearable, though she felt relieved that the pirates had not left the bodies lying around. She guessed they had been chucked overboard. Still, the planks ran red, so she kept her gaze up from the deck and gritted her teeth against the stench.

If it were not for a microscopic flinch in Rolfe's brow, Pocahontas would have thought him indifferent to the bloodshed. It so appeared that he was more practiced at guarding his features than she could have ever imagined. It was a skill that seemed to be present in many Englishmen of the upper crust, forced upon them by society.

Pocahontas sighed as they were led through the crowd toward the leader of the marauding band. As they made their way through, the lot of pirates turned one by one to look at them—at first with surprise, then with scheming curiosity. It was not until they had almost reached the helm that the Captain even saw them. His Bosun, a tall, angular beast of a man, noted their presence first and tapped Bleud on the shoulder, pointing them out to the gruff commander.

The Bosun held Pocahontas's attention the longest. She had never seen a man of his kind before, for his skin was many shades darker than hers. As she got closer, it became apparent that he was dark as the night itself. He wore no shirt and his ebony flesh glistened with sweat from the victorious battle. Almost as tall as Uttamatomakkin, he had a frightful, solemn demeanor. He was neither old nor young. Perhaps he was in his mid-thirties, she thought. His eyes seemed to be able to pierce armor, and Pocahontas had to suppress the urge to tremble under his intent gaze.

She shot a glance at John, who was still talking amicably with Flame. He seemed to notice the dark man's presence, but was not taken aback. Perhaps he had seen such people before, or he was concealing his surprise. Pocahontas had no way to know.

"Halt!" Bleud abruptly ordered, stirring the pirate crew to silence.

Pocahontas and Rolfe stopped in an instant, and the Quartermaster stepped forward by way of introduction. Flame bowed to the Captain in a flourished gesture. The formality seemed to serve the sole purpose of making the crew laugh, and they did so rather loudly. "Good Captain, turns out Blackwell had a few prisoners down in the brig, both destined for execution in the colonies. Allow me to introduce John Rolfe, traitor to the English throne, and Prince Tomtom of an Injun tribe. As sworn enemies of James, they have humbly requested a parlay with ye."

Flame's announcement had snapped Pocahontas out of her fixation with the hard-faced Bosun. She began to observe the other crewmembers. They seemed to be a mix of races, though most were white or close to it. The Bosun's appearance was by far the strangest she had yet seen, however. Despite their differences, the crew had clearly formed a unique culture all their own.

Pocahontas's curiosity was tempered by her fear. These were not good people. And now she knew precisely why Rolfe had turned her into a 'man,' and dread struck her heart like a burning arrow. She knew she truly had to keep up the appearance, and she had to keep it up well.

"Request accepted," Bleud replied, and she thought she heard a quiet sigh of relief coming from Rolfe. Pocahontas was glad that the Englishman was obscured from the Bosun's piercing gaze in that instant. The moment ended when Flame stepped aside to allow the 'prisoners' to come forward.

Rolfe stepped up first, followed by Pocahontas. Out of fear, she stayed slightly back, though not enough for her timidity to be noticeable. She watched as the Englishmen cordially removed his muddied red hat and held it to his chest. "Great Captain, the tales of your unimagined deeds have reached us in the Tower of London even before our sentencing. Never did I think I would have the privilege to meet you in person. As your Quartermaster mentioned, my name is, or was, John Rolfe. Prince Tomtom and I would like to request to join your crew, if you'll have us. We are willing to work very hard. Like you, we want nothing more than revenge on the English. Isn't that right, Tomtom?"

Pocahontas bowed her head in an affirmative manner, something she had seen Uttamatomakkin do many times. She decided her brother-in-law would be her model for the man's role she was playing at. It made sense—the less she spoke, the less likely she would be to give anything away.

"Hmm," Bleud replied, his face betraying no conclusions. He licked his chapped lips as he considered the appeal. Observing him, Pocahontas noticed numerous feathers woven into the brown hair on his face. His skin was darker than the average white man's too, so she wondered if he could be a racial hybrid of some sort. "How do I know I can trust ye, my boy? I've got a good many enemies, as it were," he finally said.

"Understood, Captain. Perhaps only time will allow us to prove our devotion. Again, I am not opposed to a bit of backbreaking labor if that's what you require of me," Rolfe replied. "As a full-grown man I should be able to handle a good bit of work." He gestured to Pocahontas. "I request you go a bit easier on the lad, though. We would not want to stunt his growth. His father is a very tall and very powerful warrior, and Tomtom has much potential given just a few short years. Currently, he is no older than fifteen and cannot handle a man's workload just yet."

Pocahontas felt a bit bothered by Rolfe's last statement for some reason she could not determine, though she knew perfectly well how much he wanted to protect her. If he knew the labor involved in corn cultivation however, he might think otherwise.

She figured if she really pushed herself, she might be able to impress him with just what she could 'handle.' She felt the fire of determination enliven her veins, and stood staunchly before the pirate Captain and his crew. She would show John that she was not helpless in the face of adversity. It was not just about her pride though—she did not want Rolfe to have to bear the full burden of their predicament alone.

Bleud was silent for a moment following Rolfe's promises, but his blackened teeth suddenly showed up in an ominous grin. "I've got a better idea, my boy."

Rolfe perked up, his face a mix of interest and apprehension. The pirate Captain abruptly howled into the crowd, giving Pocahontas a start: "BRING FORTH THE PRISONER!"

A battered man was dragged from the throng, a handkerchief gag across his mouth. As his dazed head bobbed about, Pocahontas was tempted to look away. It was clear the bloodied sailor had been tortured to some degree, though she knew not why. She vaguely recognized him as a rude low-ranked crewman from whom she had heard the word "savage" muttered more than a few times. Despite his treatment of her, she sensed the depth of his pain and pitied him for it.

"If you've the gall to join me crew, lad, then kill the scum. We've had our fun with 'im, now he's all yours," Bleud replied. Unsheathing his sword, he tossed it deftly by the hilt to Rolfe, who readily caught it.

Pocahontas almost gasped as the full weight of the order sank in. She saw Rolfe's Adam's apple bob in apprehension. It was clear he had never killed anyone before. He held his face firm, but she could tell his skin was gathering a thin sheet of sweat.

After he got over the initial shock, Rolfe quickly and loudly cleared his throat. "Right, then!" He deftly spun the sword around in his hand, bringing the tip to rest by the unfortunate sailor's jugular. As desperately as he tried to keep his hand from trembling, Pocahontas's sharp eyes noticed the slightest of quivers.

_Is he really going to do it?_ she wondered, unable to stop herself from sweating as well. Worse yet, what would she think of him if he did? Would she ever be able to see him the same way again? The fear was most profound, a deep dark beast lurking in the abyss that she had not sensed until now. Was not the real measure of a man what he would do when pushed to the brink?

"_I want to see your killer instinct,"_ Bleud hissed as Rolfe sucked in a breath.

The beaten captive's eyes shot open, and he looked directly at Pocahontas. The sailor had to look her up and down a few times before recognition dawned in his visage.

She gritted her teeth in fear as she saw him draw his brows together, shaking off the gag. "Hold on a minute, that's not a—" The man's sentence was cut short as John Rolfe buried a knee deep in his solar plexus, knocking the breath clean out of his lungs.

Pocahontas gasped, as Rolfe turned his head and his eyes instantly met hers. The man's green orbs expressed volumes that she knew he could not say aloud. He would not let this man expose her. If he had to be cruel in order to do that, he would be.

Members of the crew chuckled at the show of violence, and Rolfe turned away from Pocahontas to Captain Bleud. "Forgive me, Captain. I admit I am a bit disappointed. I had a beef with this man throughout the voyage and feel that a quick death is far too merciful for a _louse_ such as this. But," he sighed, "if you wish me to kill him quickly, I suppose I must. You are the one in charge after—" POW!

A loud gunshot went off. Rolfe yelped and jumped back. He immediately brought his free hand to his heaving chest to still his racing heart as he stared down at the prisoner. The English sailor in front of him teetered on his knees as a long rivulet of dark liquid oozed down his forehead. A few delayed seconds later the man fell facedown to the reddened planks.

Bleud drew his brows together in discontentment. "Who did that?" he snapped, peering from pirate to pirate looking for the guilty party.

A voice came from the crowd, "Sorry, Cap'n. Me finger slipped." It was a dirty blond man with a fake foot. Suddenly—THUD!—a pirate directly across from the murdered sailor hit the ground as well.

Pocahontas's jaw hung open. Two men killed by one bullet, and the Captain still appeared mostly nonchalant—even though one of the victims was his own man. If anything, the development seemed like an annoyance to him. He turned to the swarthy man at his side. "Bosun, three lashes for Goldilocks."

The blond pirate's shoulders fell slightly. _"Well, alright, then…"_ he murmured pathetically as Bleud turned back to the crew.

"Alrighty, men, toss 'em overboard," Bleud commanded. "No use crying o'er spilt blood, I always say. Mr. Rolfe, I'm sorry the idiot stole your kill. You can have his rum ration tonight, if ye like."

Rolfe's shock at the unexpected turn of events dissipated upon hearing this. "Does that mean we're in, Captain?" he nearly stuttered out.

"Aye, I need a replacement for ol' Stump-Foot there anywho," Bleud said, gesturing to the dead pirate as the other crewmen chucked the body over the railing. "Ye'll be doing the riggings."

Rolfe felt his stomach twist. The order made him extremely nervous, as the rigging job was the most dangerous on the ship. As Rolfe had a terrible fear of heights, it would not be easy for him at all. But if working the rigging was what he had to do to keep Pocahontas safe, then he would. Fortunately, due to reading and observation, he felt he had enough knowledge of the riggings to do the job right. He would just have to be extra careful not to slip—he had to stay alive for Pocahontas's sake. _I just won't look down…_ he assured himself, though the fear churned like a miniature maelstrom in the pit of his stomach. He gathered himself outwardly and gave Bleud a firm nod. "Aye, sir."

"As for the Injun," Bleud continued. "We lost our Cabin Boy a fortnight back. We'll be needing a replacement, and he's just the right age."

Rolfe felt instant relief. Cabin Boys had more menial labors, and their jobs tended to be safer, though what had happened to the previous individual, he could only guess. "Yes, I think Tomtom would be perfect for that. I'll help teach him all the parts of the job. Thank you, Captain. We will serve the ship and the crew well. Now, if I might ask, where are we headed on our next venture? Young Tomtom has yet to see much of the known world and I'm sure the curiosity is killing him," the Englishman continued.

"We're heading down south past Florida way to hijack Spanish ships. They are rumored to carry great quantities of gold from the southernmost colonies. We captured this vessel for need of another ship, in order to ambush the Spaniards from both sides. That, and the crew got a bit crowded on the old Draw. Thereafter we head to Tortuga for wenches and rum!" Bleud cried, receiving a loud cheer from his crew. Pocahontas raised an eyebrow, unable to decipher the meaning of the word 'wenches.'

Before the boisterous crew even quieted down, Bleud turned and started shouting orders. "Flame, I'm making you a temp captain of the new ship. I want half of you men back on the Draw in less than a minute. Move out!"

"Aye, Captain," exclaimed the crew in unison.

"Aye, Bleud," echoed the Quartermaster. When Bleud and half the crew swung back over to the Draw, Flame turned around and began shouting the orders. "Riggers up to the riggings. Unfurl the sails. I can feel a favorable wind blowing. Hurry it up! Last straggler gets a flogging," Flame announced sharply, just before he winked at John with a wicked grin. Pocahontas did not fail to notice Rolfe's eyes widen just before he turned and bolted for the riggings. The Englishman could run faster than a young buck from a wolf's jaws when his skin was on the line.

"Tomtom?" Pocahontas suddenly heard Flame call her fake name, and she turned to see him holding a mop and bucket. He tossed both items to her. "Swab the deck free of all the gore. I want to see my reflection in it by daybreak," he instructed, earning an instantaneous nod from her. Then he disappeared to instruct the others.


	2. A Pirate's Life is Not for Me

**The Adventures of Pocahontas and John Rolfe**

Chapter 2: A Pirate's Life is Not for Me

When Pocahontas was first handed the mop, she regarded it as she would her best friend. The perceived simplicity of the chore never did materialize, for she soon discovered that the blood on the planks refused to wash up entirely. It appeared to be soaked into the grain of the wood, and no matter how she scrubbed, a crimson tinge remained. Worse yet, it appeared the majority of the deck had been tainted. There was even blood on the railing and other hard-to-reach places.

The fear of performing inadequate work stung at her, driving her tirelessly on through the night, though she had had little sleep before the pirate attack. Poor Rolfe, on the other hand, had had none at all. Halfway through the night Flame's newly appointed First Mate, Leonard Legless, had come to relieve the Captain from command. Every four or so hours she noticed as a crewman came to relieve the other riggers. The unfortunate Englishman was the only exception.

Pocahontas had a strong suspicion that Flame had specifically ordered the crew not to relieve Rolfe. She felt a spike of terror as she saw John rub his eyes, teetering in exhaustion high up on the main mast. He immediately grabbed a hold of the riggings, a look of sheer panic written all over his face. She wanted to call out to him to come down, or to hang a net over the quarterdeck below him at the very least. She calmed down a bit when he was able to move to a slightly safer location closer to the mast.

As she continued her work, Pocahontas became lost in her thoughts, though she always poised herself to keep Rolfe in her peripheral vision. She nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt a painfully hard clap on her back, and turned to see Flame's hideous but smiling face. "Whoa, there," said the new Captain, chuckling. "Slow down, my boy. You'll work yourself to death. When I said I wanted to see my reflection, I didn't mean turn the whole deck into a mirror. Wouldn't want the sun reflected in the riggers' eyes, now would we?"

Pocahontas blinked in surprise and almost dropped her mop, then shook her head in response. She gritted her teeth when he clapped her again in the same sore spot and said, "Off to the sleeping quarters with you, laddie. Wouldn't want to be stunting your growth for lack of shuteye," he said in a chummy manner, waving her off.

She wanted to point to John to find out when he would be relieved, but she was afraid that if she let her concern show it could be used against them later. She nodded and walked away from Flame as he turned his attention to the swarthy Bosun. In the light of day he appeared to be a very, very dark shade of brown, rather than pure ebony as she had thought the night before. His features looked different, too. His hair, for instance, was hard to describe. It looked like a thin layer of black fuzz tacked to his skull, and his nose was flatter than most, and stretched out across his face. It was not an unattractive look, just different, and she wondered if she would ever see more people like him (though she hoped others might be nicer).

The disguised woman yawned deeply as she emptied the bucket over the side of the ship. She put the mop and bucket away in the storage room just below deck, and then re-emerged to check on Rolfe. It was clear that his energy level had entered a nosedive when his eyelids fluttered despite his precarious situation. He struggled to keep his eyes even halfway open, and his pull on the lines had weakened considerably. Pocahontas bit her lower lip as she watched in dread.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed some movement, and turned to see Flame pointing up at Rolfe behind the Englishman's back. Standing beside Flame, the Bosun grinned in amusement. The Captain laughed outright with a wicked look in his cold eyes.

Hatred welled up inside Pocahontas, but then she gave in to a sigh of melancholy. The last time she could remember feeling so helpless was when her father had first sentenced John Smith to execution, and that was almost five years ago.

Pocahontas chanted quietly to the wind spirits to keep Rolfe from falling. Her voice was carried away by the gale as she sorely began to miss the liberating feeling of a cool breeze in her long flowing hair. The wind whistled back in response to her chant, giving her some hope that the right spirits had heard her plea and were eager to assist.

She went to check on Meeko before retiring. He had stayed down in the brig with the others, though she was surprised to find that he was slightly more alert than before. He even started sniffing the bread she offered him—a treat that she had snagged from the galley on the way down.

Pocahontas ran a hand through his fur as he investigated the food item. "Don't give up, Meeko. We're going to be on the saltwater a little bit longer than expected, but don't give up," she murmured.

Meeko reacted with a small purr and started nibbling on the bread. Flit buzzed by and Pocahontas asked him to keep an eye on Meeko for her—to which the small bird responded with a nod. Pocahontas peered into the empty barrel to find Percy still curled up inside. He was fast asleep, so she left him some food and retreated to the sleeping quarters a few floors above.

Settling into a hammock in a room full of loudly snoring pirates bothered her little after what she had been through. She was so tired, but she found sleep elusive as her thoughts went to Rolfe. It was so unfair. Why was Flame picking on John so much and not her? She wanted to see the wicked man flayed alive for what he was doing. She stayed up another hour in hope that Rolfe would soon crawl into the empty hammock above hers. He never appeared, and at last her body gave into the overwhelming need for rest.

…

Pocahontas awoke with a start. What time of day it was, she could not be sure. As she rubbed her eyes clear, she got the impression that it was still daylight from the faint sunglow in the hall. Realization struck her and her eyes darted frantically around the room. Some of the hammocks contained different pirates than before, but none of them contained John. She twisted around to get her feet on the floor and ended up falling flat on her face with a grunt. Her fear numbed the pain and she scrambled up from the planks, bolting out the door.

Pocahontas ran up top and glanced all around the decks. There were plenty of men shuffling about, but none of them were John. She looked to all three masts—no John. Where was he? She ran to the stern of the ship and glanced out into the sea. There appeared to be no bodies floating out there, but the ship was moving pretty fast. _Please, spirits, no…_ she pled as she watched the endless blue sea disappearing behind them under the setting sun.

Then she shook her head violently with determination. _No._ There were plenty of other places he could be. It was a big ship. She steeled her jaw and went back inside, determined to check every nook and cranny of the vessel. She searched every accessible room from bow to stern, pretending to be performing a chore whenever another pirate came along. At last she came to the hold. It was on the same level of the ship as the brig, but closer to the bow. She crept silently into the large space and peered around in the dim light provided by the lanterns in the hall.

She heard a soft sound and grabbed one of the lanterns, bringing more light into the darkened room. At last, and to her great relief, Pocahontas spotted him. Rolfe was passed out on his belly in a large pile of potatoes, all the way in the back. What the heck was he doing there? She bolted over to him and planted the lamp at the foot of the pile. "John! Wake up!" she cried. She was careful not to shake him in case he was injured. In fact, her first impulse was to pull the rim of his shirt out of his belt and check his back for lash marks. Perhaps that was why he had not come to the hammocks and was lying prone. She was thankful to discover that the skin was smooth and unblemished, at least for now.

As he did not respond to her prompt, she turned him over with a bit of effort and checked his breathing. He was alive, but out cold. There was a rare five o'clock shadow across his jaw, but even more boggling was the cherry-red color that marked his under-eyes, chin, and lower forehead. It could not have been from a slap, as it was not in the shape of a handprint at all, though the flesh appeared somewhat swollen. Bizarre was the only way she could think of to describe it. She still wondered what he was doing down in the hold, and on a pile of potatoes no less.

Finally she could take it no more and she shook him awake. He grunted in response. His reddened eyes could hardly focus at first, but he eventually came to and struggled to sit up. His stiff movements were worrisome to her. _"Pocahontas?"_ he murmured, blinking his eyes repeatedly.

"John, what are you doing down here? Why aren't you in the—" She paused. "And what happened to your face?"

"What do you mean, I—" Rolfe began, rubbing his eyes. He stopped immediately, gasping in pain. _"Oh dear, I've got to find a new hat,"_ he murmured.

"What is it?" Pocahontas said. "Did someone hit you? What happened?"

Rolfe looked at her and blinked. "What? Oh, no. It's called a sunburn, dear. Don't worry. It will heal right up in a few days."

Pocahontas raised an eyebrow in curiosity and was about to interrogate him further when Rolfe suddenly gasped in realization. "Oh, no! I fell asleep? I'm supposed to be peeling potatoes for the crew's supper tonight. _What time is it?_" Rolfe cried, struggling to get up. "I've got to fill the pot before sundown," he rasped.

Pocahontas spotted the medium-sized cauldron he was talking about in the nearby corner. It was less than a fourth full. Rolfe bit his lip and peered around frantically. "Now where on earth did my knife go?"

From what Pocahontas remembered from her search on the deck, the sun was getting dangerously close to the horizon. However, like all Powhatan women she was experienced with quick food preparation and could now use the skill to their benefit. She narrowed her eyes and pushed Rolfe down onto his back again, causing him to grunt slightly in pain. "Go to sleep," she instructed, snatching the knife from the pot. He had somehow managed to drop it into the cauldron before passing out.

Just as he began to protest, she repeated the order, _"Go. To. Sleep."_ She gave him a look that implied there was to be no argument, the same one her father had given him when he had protested the plan to send Pocahontas to England. It silenced him instantly. Grabbing the first potato, she got to work.

The speed and skill at which she worked shocked Rolfe to the point that his jaw fell open as he watched. "How…?"

"SLEEP!" Pocahontas snapped, and he immediately closed his eyes and let his head fall back in a resting position. He shifted around uncomfortably for a few minutes until she started humming a song her mother sang to her long ago. He stopped moving and soon enough Pocahontas heard the soft sounds of a sleep-induced breathing pattern, and she smiled. She filled the cauldron up to the top in a very short time span. Though the pot was heavy with so many potatoes in it, she hefted it up with a good bit of effort and trekked out of the hold.

On one of the upper levels, she ran into Flame, who was on his way down—to check on Rolfe, no doubt. She suppressed the urge to grin wickedly at the shock in his eyes when he spotted the cauldron she was carrying. His jaw dropped slightly. "Mr. Rolfe give potatoes to me for the men, run off for more work. Where is the galley, Captain?" she innocently inquired in her practiced man-voice.

Without breaking his bewildered stare, Flame pointed down the hall. She nodded her head in a polite gesture of thanks and turned away from him, grinning wickedly when he could not see.

"Tomtom," Flame suddenly said, causing her to stop in her tracks. She put her poker face back on and glanced back at him over her shoulder. "Where did Mr. Rolfe go when he finished with the potatoes, lad?"

Pocahontas shot a glance at the ceiling. "Up," she said. It was vague enough that he would not know she was lying, but it would also keep him out of the hold while John rested. She might be in a situation beyond her control, but she would be damned before letting a sadist find an excuse to torture someone she loved.

…

Pocahontas was starting to see what John meant by likening their situation to stage acting. Unlike at the Hunt Ball, she was beginning to enjoy the experience of pretending to be someone else. It was a delightful form of deceit. In fact, it reminded her of the childhood games she used to play in which she pretended to be a fox, an eagle, a chieftain, or any number of other things. The high stakes of the current situation only added to her fervor to perform well.

Over the course of a few hours, she led the dreaded Flame all over the ship on a wild goose chase in pursuit of Rolfe. Fortunately his attention was often stolen by demands from the other crewmembers, so he could not engage in a fulltime search. Pocahontas had told Flame that every time she had spotted Rolfe, he was performing another important duty. In fact, she covered for him by performing all of those duties herself and crediting the completed work to him. Flame would have nothing to accuse the English gentleman of thanks to Pocahontas's cleverness.

It was not until a few hours after dark that supper was announced. As it turned out, it was the busiest time for her. As the Cabin Boy, she was expected to run back and forth between the galley and mess hall to serve the whole crew. She really pushed herself in an effort to stay on everyone's good side. The last thing she wanted was to make enemies of any of the pirates. So she forced herself to laugh at all the jokes she heard, no matter how unfunny or inappropriate. She feebly joined in the drunken idiotic songs of the crew, even providing entertainment with an impressive fire-spinning act learned from her tribe.

The only individual she did not earn a gold-toothed grin from was the Bosun. He appeared outwardly to be a mostly humorless man, and the way he stared at her always chilled her to the core. She worried about her inability to assess his motives. Could he see through her disguise? If so, why had he not exposed her yet? Fortunately, he did not keep his attention on her for long periods of time—else she likely would have fumbled during her performance.

At the end of the feast, she was pleased to discover that all the pirates were privileged to take as much food as they liked to keep themselves sustained throughout the day. The cook only prepared one large meal after dark, and there was plenty to be had. The rum rations she had heard mention of were on account of the rum supply being low, given the pirates were all heavy drinkers. But fortunately for her, John, Meeko, Percy, and Flit, rum was the only scarce resource aboard the pirating ship.

Starved from the day's labor, Pocahontas stuffed herself full before going in search of something to carry food down to Rolfe in. She found an empty burlap sack in the galley and filled it with breads, cheeses, fruits, and other food items when her duties were finished. It had likely been at least twenty-four hours since John had eaten, she realized, so she snuck back down to the hold. Rolfe was still knocked out on the pile of potatoes, and she had to sprinkle some water on his face to rouse him.

He snapped awake with a start, breathing heavily as his eyes darted around in an attempt to assess his surroundings. "What's happened? How long have I been asleep?" he cried.

Pocahontas hushed him and pressed a kiss to his lips to calm him down, which worked like magic. When she pulled away, and before he could say anything else, she stuffed a piece of bread into his mouth. It took his brain barely a fraction of a second to analyze the foreign material before he ravenously tore a piece off the loaf and began to wolf it down.

"Chew, John. Don't make yourself sick," Pocahontas reprimanded, handing him with a skin full of fresh rainwater.

He took it readily and emptied half of it in the span of a few seconds. No matter, she had brought another in the sack. She showed him the contents and his eyes widened at the feast made available to him. He glanced up at her. "Have I ever mentioned that I love you?" he blurted, casually interlacing his fingers.

"Mhmm," Pocahontas replied, presenting him with a hunk of cheese. He took it gratefully and began to feast again, devouring both the bread and cheese in the span of a few short minutes.

"Is there any meat in there?" Rolfe suddenly inquired. When Pocahontas presented him with a leg of lamb, he thought he would die happy.

She heard him muttering a prayer of thanks just before he bit into the tender flesh. "There is wine available, too," she added. "I was pleased to discover that there are no rations for food, only rum because it is scarce. Everyone is allowed to eat as much as they want."

Rolfe swallowed the bite in his mouth and met her eyes. "That is an important discovery, Pocahontas. It should increase our chances significantly. In fact, I want you to make it a priority to eat as much as you possibly can during our time on this ship. We may or may not have to go without food for some time after we escape. The more weight you and I put on now, the better our chances of survival later. Understand?"

Pocahontas nodded. "Don't worry. I stuffed myself, too. I'm so full right now that I fear I'll burst if I bend the wrong way," she replied, laughing.

"Perfect," Rolfe said as she presented him with the skin of wine. He bit off another large hunk of the lamb leg and washed it down with the sweet beverage. "I don't think I've ever been this hungry in my entire life," he suddenly stated, shifting the leg of lamb around to the meatier side. "It's an odd feeling. Painful at first, but then immensely pleasurable." He took another bite.

Despite the desperation of their situation, manners were not entirely lost on one in whom they had been so deeply ingrained. Rolfe made a point of keeping his face clean throughout the meal to the point Pocahontas almost wanted to roll her eyes. "So John, I've had to tell many lies, but I've led the scarred man to believe that you have been busy performing duties throughout the ship. I think it would not be unreasonable for you to ask him if you can retire now, and hopefully get more sleep. Thanks to your brilliant plan, he has been going easy on me. I can help take some of the pressure off of you, in turn," she explained.

Rolfe's mouth was full as he devoured his meal, though he gave her a nod to indicate he understood. She prompted him on the duties she had completed for him so he would know what to say to Flame if asked. When he was almost done eating, she added, "I think if we work together, we can keep the lash off your back until we have a chance to escape. But you need to be unafraid to rely on me for support, just as I have you."

She was surprised to see Rolfe nod again, as she almost expected a bit of argument from him. He wiped his mouth and placed his hands on her shoulders. "You have proven to me many times that you are capable of far more than I thought you were. I will try not to underestimate you again, my dear," he expressed, making her smile. After a short pause, he continued, "Now, have you checked on Meeko, Percy, and Flit? Are they alright?"

She nodded. "I brought them food, too. They seem to want to stay in the brig because they are afraid of the pirates."

Rolfe snorted as he slowly and painfully rose to his feet. "Well, that makes five of us," he added, followed by a hiss of pain. He carefully reached up to stretch his sore back and then let his arms fall to his side again, yawning. _"Oh my, I must look absolutely dreadful,"_ he muttered to himself, scratching the rough, itchy stubble on his chin.

"Speak for yourself," Pocahontas murmured sullenly, frowning down at the floorboards. She shifted uncomfortably in the tight corset. Her chest felt like a furnace and she desperately wished she could throw it off and cool down, but she could not risk discovery. The Great Spirit only knew how long she would have to wear the dreadful garment.

"Now Pocahontas, don't be silly. You could be wearing nothing but mud and you'd still be the most ravishing thing I'd ever laid eyes upon," Rolfe countered. She flushed slightly and gave him a half-grin as he turned to face her. He took her hand in his. "Now listen, darling. There's something we need to discuss and I fear it may be an unpleasant subject, but one we must cover nonetheless."

When her face fell slightly at the ill-boding statement, he wagged a finger at her. "Don't be like that," he admonished. "There's a good chance that everything will be all right. But in case our luck takes a turn for the worst, I want us to be prepared. If something happens to me, I firmly believe you can still make it back home on your own."

A gasp escaped her lips as Rolfe buried a hand in one of the pockets of his filthy breeches, pulling out a small coin purse. He placed it on her palm and closed her slim fingers around the item. "This should be just enough gold for you to barter passage back to Virginia once the ship arrives in Tortuga. Be on the lookout. Tortuga is a dangerous place populated by cutthroat fiends, but if you can successfully blend in and find a ship headed in the right direction, you could get yourself home. Also, in the spot below the brig floorboards, I also hid the necklace I gave you in London. It is quite valuable, so if these coins aren't enough, you could use that as added leverage. This is assuming you aren't given a share of the plunder if and when we attack a Spanish ship. All in all, I believe your chances are quite good, love. Just don't lose hope." He finished his short speech by planting a kiss on the back of her hand.

Pocahontas's bottom lip began to quiver and she tried to shove the coin purse back at him. "No, John! I can't accept this. You're going to be fine. We'll get home together. I know we—"

Rolfe silenced her by placing a finger on her lips and he shoved the purse in the pocket of her trousers. "This is not up for discussion, Pocahontas. I'm not saying anything is going to happen, but if it does, I want to ensure your safety as much as possible. I have every intention of getting you safely back to your father, or I will die trying. However if you promise me that you won't give up even if I do die, you will greatly increase my chances of survival. That is a certainty. If there's any resource I'm scarcest on at the moment, it is peace of mind."

Pocahontas felt her nose start to run and her vision went blurry, but she forced herself to nod through the tears. Rolfe wrapped his arms around her as she buried her face in his chest, clinging hopelessly to his shirt with her hands. She breathed heavily.

Rolfe flinched when a familiar little bird showed up in his line of vision. Pocahontas noticed the sudden movement and turned around, meeting Flit's eyes as he squeaked in melancholy. Her animal friends never did like seeing her upset.

"Hello, Flit," Rolfe greeted as he rubbed the small of Pocahontas's back. "Are you and the others holding up alright?" The hummingbird seemed to shrug in response. "Oh, well, at least there haven't been any disasters, right?" he replied, weary.

Pocahontas dried her eyes. "Come on, John. Let's make an appearance before anyone gets suspicious," she said. Rolfe smiled at her. She grabbed the dim lantern on the floor and led the way out the door to the hall.

…

Contrary to expectations, things did start to get slightly easier after the first few hellish days. Thanks to Pocahontas's constant support, Rolfe was able to avoid the lash, although they had a few close calls every now and again. The Englishman began to put on more muscle to the point that his clothes tightened around his frame. Pocahontas managed to find him a hat with a string, allowing him to bind it to his head against the harsh winds up in the masts. He was fortunate to suffer no more sunburns after that.

As much as Rolfe hated itchy facial hair, he felt compelled to let a short beard grow out to give him a rougher, more pirate-like appearance. Short of cutting off a hand and replacing it with a hook, he did everything he could to make himself less of an easy target to Flame and the others.

As part of his developing escape plan, he made an effort to befriend one of the ship's navigators to gain access to the ship's land map. The task proved to be much easier said than done. For his calm and intellectual manner, Rolfe did not find it easy to be liked amongst the pirates. It was a hard learning experience for him, as he had always made friends easily in high English society. On the pirate ship however, he got punched a few times for his cordial efforts.

Pocahontas fretted over him quite a bit when he would show up with a black eye or any number of other new cuts and bruises. However by the end of week one, Rolfe actually felt he was making progress with some of the curs, as far as peaceful relations go. He had to make multiple adjustments to all his practiced social behaviors to achieve even the tiniest results, though.

What was most worrisome to Pocahontas was the fact that the Bosun never seemed to lose interest in Rolfe. She often spotted the large man watching him from a prominent position on the ship's quarterdeck. The look in his dark eyes was unreadable. From what they had seen the first day after the attack, the Bosun was also the man who bore the cat 'o nine tails against offending crewmembers.

Fortunately, Pocahontas had been able to duck into a privy in the belly of the ship and cover her ears when the beating of the clumsy blond pirate had taken place. From what she had heard, it had been quite brutal indeed. She had not seen the man again and later learned that he was recovering in the medical bay. The pirates considered three lashes a light punishment, but judging by the size and strength of the whip-bearer, it had the potential to kill. The brutality present in these men's lives was unimaginable to her, and it kept Pocahontas on her toes throughout the southbound voyage.

At the beginning of the second week the winds evened out, meaning the sails could be left in one position for longer without the ship losing speed. This relieved most of the riggers to partake in other duties, and occasionally even a bit of leisurely activities such as gambling in the mess hall and fencing up on the deck. It was at this time that Rolfe asked Flame permission to begin teaching 'Tomtom' the art of sword fighting. Surprised to discover that the boy was a complete beginner, the Captain consented to the training straightaway.

Rolfe selected two wooden practice swords from the armory down in the hold and began teaching Pocahontas the basic fencing poses on the quarterdeck in the early mornings and late evenings. She learned much faster than expected and was soon able to move onto basic moves, followed by more advanced maneuvers.

When Flame had come to observe that Rolfe was as good as his word in terms of the work he was willing and able to do, his malicious attentions toward the Englishman eased up somewhat. Still, the Bosun's constant lurking attentions on John unnerved Pocahontas to the point that she finally pulled Rolfe inside the empty storage room and warned him to watch his back when the large man was around.

When Rolfe peered at the big man out of the window and gulped in apprehension, it did not make Pocahontas feel any better. "Well thanks, Pocahontas. I'd been so busy, I had not really noticed. I really must learn to become more observant if we're ever to get out of here in one piece," he replied, turning from the window. He placed a gentlemanly kiss on the back of her hand in a gesture of appreciation.

She gave him a half-smile, suddenly reminded of just how much she missed being treated like a real woman. It was a privilege she had taken for granted her whole life up until now. She wanted this nightmare to end, and she wanted it to end soon, but she knew she would have to keep holding on tight for the ride.

Pocahontas sighed and wiped away a stray lock of hair that had fallen out of her hat. "To think, if this had never happened, we'd be home by now," she lamented, sitting down on the top of a small barrel. She rested her elbows on her knees and buried her face in her palms. A moment later, she felt Rolfe's warm, reassuring hand on her shoulder, and it seemed to do the trick and brought her back into the present.

Thereafter whenever Pocahontas spoke in a manner tinged with despair, Rolfe had been there to remind her that all things happen for a reason. Perhaps the powers that be were testing them, seeing what they were made of for some divine purpose. Perhaps many years later, they would look back at all this craziness and laugh. They could only keep hoping and planning, spying and observing—waiting for their chance to make a clean getaway. Through it all, Rolfe was there to keep her grounded, and she him.

…

One night near the end of the second week, Pocahontas was attending to her usual Cabin Boy duties in the mess hall. Most of the crewmen had finished their meals already and left to either sleep, gamble, or drink their rum ration up on the deck. Very few were on duty. With the winds relatively stable, all they needed were a few night watchmen and a navigator.

Only a tight clique of about five pirates remained in the far corner of the mess hall after hours. Even so, Pocahontas was expected to remain in case they required service. The posse sat around a medium-sized circular table with only one lantern in the center to provide lighting. When Pocahontas was called over to deliver a mug of ale, she observed that the men were playing some kind of game with rectangular pieces of stiff paper. All the rectangles were decorated with intricate patterns. She had glanced such a game in London on occasion, but had never thought to ask what it was about.

Pocahontas was slightly curious, but too tired to inquire. However she managed to get pulled into the action anyway when she barely overheard something whispered by one of the men that caught her interest. "…enraged deities of the…ride the wind…favor attacking on the Spanish…" From his tone of voice, it sounded like he was recounting some deep, dark secret tale to the other men.

Pocahontas quietly shuffled out into the hall and ran to the wall between her and the pirates. There were a few small holes in the wood, so she stuck her ear up against one. Now she could listen in with more clarity. She just had to keep an eye on the stairwell ahead to make sure no one caught her eavesdropping.

"Aye, tis' true, men," another pirate confirmed. This was a baldheaded man with a burn scar in the shape of a spider on his skull. "Some of the wenches in Tortuga were sold to the brothels by the Spaniards. They are the survivors. Cortez ravaged the Aztec tribes for the gold, plundering and pillaging village after village. They say the death god could no longer contain all the lost souls in the afterlife. He tried to stretch it further into the black expanse, but it ruptured and released tens of thousands of murdered souls back into the living land. Some got caught up in the wind, others the ocean currents. The mindless spirits of the dead seek only one thing—revenge."

"Sounds like a load of crock," another man retorted, rolling his eyes at the storyteller. "How stupid can you—"

"NO!" countered the bald cur, slamming a fist down on the table. The whole room seemed to rattle with the impact. "There is proof. Look around you, fool. Why do you think the winds have been so strong and even over a week straight? They know we hunt the Spaniards and they want to help us. Why do you think the Draw could ride through the pall of that storm two weeks back like a bird on a breeze when this ship could not? They wanted us to take the ship, have the advantage. They control the elements. There have been reports of Spanish ships sucked into the belly of the ocean for no apparent reason. Have you not heard?"

"What are you doing, boy?" came a fearsome deep voice from behind. Pocahontas thought her heart would pop out of her chest in that instant. Fortunately over the course of the last two weeks, she had learned how to suppress the impulse to yelp when startled. Instead, she simply jolted and spun around, coming face to face with a towering dark figure.

The Bosun wore his usual vacant expression. He did not appear angry, per se—but neither did he appear amused. Pocahontas knew she would have to think fast on her feet to get out of this one. Then again, how incriminating was eavesdropping aboard a pirate ship anyway?

"I am sorry," Pocahontas began, tempted to remove her hat and place it on her chest as she had seen Rolfe do many times in a gesture of humble submission. "In village, there was much storytelling. I was missing to listen to story. Did not want to bother the men. I am sorry. It is childish…" she weakly explained, fighting the urge to shuffle her feet.

The Bosun placed a hand on his chin seemingly as he considered her words. Finally he walked past her and waved a hand in the direction he was going. "Come, boy. I have many stories from my homeland. Where I come from, there is nothing 'childish' about stories," he replied in the strangest accent she had ever heard. She realized it was the first time she had heard him speak loud and clear.

While Pocahontas was relieved she would not be punished for eavesdropping, fear of following the large man welled up inside her. On the other hand, she began to feel an intense sense of curiosity. What would she learn from this man if she dared listen? After a moment's hesitation, she decided the risk was worth it. Rolfe had instructed her to glean any information from the crew whenever she could. Perhaps she would discover why the Bosun was inclined to watch John so intensely, though she feared the answer.

Pocahontas nodded and began to follow. "I would like that, sir," she mumbled. He said nothing more as he led her to the end of the hall. She held her eyes down until they reached their destination. To her great surprise, it turned out the Bosun was occupying Rolfe's former cabin.

Pocahontas felt her heart lurch at the realization that he might have found some document in Rolfe's room indicating their real identities. However, the fear was mostly squelched when she crept inside at the Bosun's invite. It appeared Rolfe had hurriedly purged his cabin of any and all incriminating evidence, most likely through the window hatch on the far wall. It was still open to allow a calm breeze to enter. The Englishman was smart. Of course he would not have left any loose ends that could endanger the woman he loved.

"Sit anywhere you like," the Bosun instructed as he plopped down heavily into the silk-cushioned desk chair that once belonged to Rolfe. He put his large feet up on the fine oak desk without even kicking off his heavy black boots, and leaned back in the chair.

Pocahontas glanced around and spotted a similar chair in the corner. She pulled it closer and sat down in it. While she would normally have preferred the floor, the man's presence was towering enough without her being so far below him. She tensed as the man pulled out a knife from his belt. When he casually took the blade to a small wooden carving piece pulled out of his pocket, she relaxed a bit. He was only whittling.

"You have a name, sir?" Pocahontas inquired in a voice more timid than she would have liked. "Other than Bosun…?"

He stilled his carving, and glanced up at her with a dark expression. She gulped. The Bosun gently bit his lower lip as his gaze fell again, perhaps in thought. Finally he replied. "No. I have no name, boy."

Pocahontas blinked in confusion. The Bosun paused, and then sighed. "I had one once," he added, lifting his chin to look at her. "Long, long ago. But it was stolen." He met her eyes. "Guard yours with your life." He deftly spun the knife in his hand and rammed the blade tip into the oaken desktop without breaking eye contact.

Pocahontas blinked. _Stolen…?_ How could a name be stolen? As enigmatic as the Bosun's words were to her, she felt bizarrely compelled to learn more. Fearing to offend him, she hesitated until she found the right wording for her next question. "Where are you from? I have not seen men like you. Never before," she explained.

Unexpectedly, the Bosun grinned at her. He pulled his knife out of the oak and returned to carving. "We are not so different, in fact," he replied, peeling a narrow grain of wood from the carving and chucking it behind him. Glancing under his chair, she noticed a growing pile of woodcarvings on the floor by the desk.

Pocahontas raised her eyebrows in surprise as he continued, "At least, neither of us are white." He abruptly pulled his feet off the desktop and faced her fully. "I feel I can trust you, boy. Your blood is not tainted like the others. We are the only two purebloods onboard, I believe," he said, flicking a finger back and forth between the two of them. He shook his head and sighed. "It is a pity we are forced to communicate in the tongue of the enemy."

Pocahontas widened her eyes in surprise. This man… this large, mysterious man from an unknown land was confiding in her? She felt put in an awkward position, but then she considered the possibilities this new development might hold for her and John. Perhaps she could learn something of use to them, to aid in their survival. She nodded, encouraging the Bosun to continue.

"Let me ask you a question before I begin the first story, boy. Is your name really Tomtom, or were you forced to shorten it for the tongue-twisted pale men?" the Bosun unexpectedly inquired.

Pocahontas raised an eyebrow at the odd question. "There is a long version, but short was used in village before the white men came. For ceremony," she explained, "it is Timtomitloctl." She had known a Tomtom from another village when she was a child, as she recalled. For some reason, his was the first face she thought of when John told her to pick a man's name from her culture.

The Bosun chuckled. "Of course, no white man could pronounce such a beautiful name as yours, boy. They are like children, needing short names. More than three beats and they get confused. I had a beautiful name once too, long as the trunk of the _jimjumjea_ tree."

The grin fell from his face. Pocahontas could not quite place the look in his eyes in that instant. He no longer seemed present in the room. He had to be reminiscing on some distant time and place. Though what his thoughts consisted of precisely, she could not even hope to guess.

A few delayed seconds later, the Bosun shook his head and returned from his brief trance. "All that matters now is retribution. The land of my people was a paradise of balance. The balance has been lost, but the chaos did not stop there. It spread much further. The first story I have to tell you, boy, is of the Coming of the White Devil." The tone in his voice had taken a downward turn at the end and the look in his eyes darkened.

"Like you, I am of royalty. My father was a great chief who presided over many villages throughout the jungle," he began, stopping when he saw her raise an eyebrow.

"What is jungle?" Pocahontas inquired. "Is that word in your tongue?"

The Bosun shook his head. "It is an English word. Jungle is a dense forest. Very hot and very wet all year long. There is no snow, ever. Jungles are common in the land of Affrika, far south of the pale man's homeland. The word for jungle in my tongue was _swiliwatsuana_. But my tongue is gone. It was stolen, like my name."

Pocahontas found herself frowning. Could she actually be feeling sympathy for this wicked man? Could the circumstances of his life truly be responsible for his cruel nature? She had to learn more, so she watched him attentively.

He continued, "The people of my tribe did not wear clothes. Only jewelry of many, many beads made from painted stones, fired clay, and seashells. The land was rich and we were a prosperous people, successful at expelling our enemies whenever they came of threat. My parents were warriors, both, tall and strong. Our staple food was _jimumbaia_ porridge, made from the pulp of the _jimjumjea_ tree, but the local diet was diverse. We gorged ourselves on fruits, roots, bee honey, clams, and ox meat and blood when the rains came each year in an enormous celebration. The coming of the heavy rains was considered the time when the land was reborn, as the sodden sky breathed new life into the earth, like a mother nursing her newborn child."

Pocahontas found herself becoming absorbed in the tale, his intricate descriptions bringing her into a new world her eyes had never had the privilege to see. She wondered if John Smith had seen such a place, and regretted never having the opportunity to talk with the blue-eyed sailor in depth about his travels. As Pocahontas peered into the Bosun's eyes, he almost seemed to be in another time long past as he recounted the story. She thought she spotted a glimmer of remembered happiness—stolen, of course, like all the things this man once knew.

"I was about your age, boy, when the world as I knew it changed, perhaps a little older. I was considered seventeen by the white man's calculations. My people measured time in seasons, of which there were two per year—the wet season and the dry season. I was precisely thirty-five seasons old at the time my older brother spotted strange clouds off the coast of our jungle."

Pocahontas gasped, and the Bosun raised a brow. "I… I saw the strange clouds over the trees, too. I had heard the spirits whisper of them," she blurted. When she realized what she had said, she almost wanted to clap a hand over her mouth. It would not be wise for her to confide as well. This man could not be trusted, after all. She mentally kicked herself and resolved to watch her tongue thereafter.

To her surprise, the Bosun simply nodded. "It is a tale I have heard from many such as us, child. It was a _jimjumjea_ spirit that told my brother. The white man sailed to your shores for gold, did he not?" the man inquired.

Pocahontas gave an affirmative head bob and said, "He found none."

The Bosun nodded softly, indicating his understanding. "You were lucky. Although it did you little good as the pale King has declared war on your people anyway. They will not survive. You know this to be true. In my land, the pale men came looking for hard rocks called diamonds. They were worthless to us beyond use as simple tools, but the white men hungered for them as lions for zebra flesh."

His blunt statement showed little sympathy for her people's supposed impending demise, but Pocahontas figured he had been ruthlessly hardened by the experiences he was about to detail. She frowned at the bleakness of it all, but allowed him to continue.

"The white men on our shores pretended to be friendly at first. They showed an interest in learning our tongue and some of our ways. They were few in number, and we did not see them as a threat. Though their weapons were powerful, they never used them to threaten us. We believed their thunder-sticks were for hunting only. As our land was abundant, we were naïve enough to give them what they asked for. In our negotiations with them, we set only two rules—they were to stay away from our women, and our holy burial mounds. That was all. We were willing to share food, water, beads, anything else of value that they wished of us, because we had so much."

As he paused, he seemed to shake his head in sorrow. Pocahontas's gaze fell as she bit her bottom lip in a dejected manner. "Their leader was a young white man with hair the color of the sun at midday," he said after a short silence.

This statement caught Pocahontas's attention and she looked up as he added, "And eyes the color of the sky. In my tribe, a boy is considered a man at twenty-four seasons of age, and may take his first wife. The ordinary man is allowed a new wife every two seasons, until he reaches the limit he can provide for. Most men reached their limit with somewhere between three and five women. As a prince, I was very wealthy, and could support a great many wives with my bounty. When the white men arrived, I had already collected well over thirty wives and nearly as many children."

He paused and seemed to contemplate something just before he looked up at Pocahontas again. "Have you had the chance to be with a woman yet, boy?" he unexpectedly asked.

The sudden inquisition confounded Pocahontas and she blinked in surprise. She felt her face flush as she shook her head. _What a bizarre thought…_ she realized, but threw off the absurd notion.

The Bosun just shrugged. "I fear the pirating life does not accommodate maidens well, but if you desire, we can set you up with a wench in Tortuga. I know it is not ideal, but better than going without." He winked at her, and continued, "Anyway, I was about to take another wife, in fact—my favorite. Her name was _Shanqilshatsuq_. She was a beauty to rival the starlit night itself. In fact, her beauty is difficult to describe. The wretched white man's tongue could never do her justice," he explained, shaking his head in suppressed anger. He met Pocahontas's eyes. "The people of her village were so enamored of her grace, in fact, that there was a song about her that travelled the land. It was how I first learned of her. Would you like to hear it?"

Pocahontas nodded, never breaking eye contact. With that, the Bosun began. Despite the gruffness of his speaking voice, his melodic range was more colorful and varied than the wind. Pocahontas closed her eyes as she listened, letting the music wash upon her like a gentle surf.

"_Shanqilshatsuq sinsqatsuan gana gei prusutan_

_Leia leia Shanqilshatsuq estpece tea tintantuan_

_Beia beia Shanqilshatsuq estpece tea lestitqintan_

_Shanqilshatsuq, e, Shanqilshatsuq pece seqinsan_

_Jinjinjinjin jabequan Shanqilshatsuq, suequetan."_

It was not so much the meaning of the specific words that came to her consciousness as images of what they described, in the flesh. She entered a trance-like state of the time the Bosun had first laid eyes upon Shanqilshatsuq. As the woman of impeccable proportions and features approached, the sun rose red in the background, soon to be splattered by blood across the alien landscape. Pocahontas awoke with a start, looking shaken.

"Are you all right, boy?" the Bosun asked, raising a brow. He observed that she was breathing rather heavily and kept his gaze on her as realization dawned. "You saw it, didn't you?" he murmured.

Pocahontas said not a word, but nodded fiercely. The Bosun looked impressed. "In my land, the men and women with your powers are called _spirit-eyes_. I am one, too, as were my brother and mother. It is a pity, there are so few of us left now that the White Plague has spread so far over the earth."

Pocahontas glanced downward for a second, and then met the Bosun's eyes again. She was almost afraid to voice her next question. "…So what happened to Shanqilshatsuq?" she murmured in a timid tone. She noted a flash of pain in the Bosun's eyes, and immediately regretted her words. "I am sorry, I did not mean—" she began, but he put up a hand to silence her.

"It's fine, boy. I was going to get to that anyway. It is part of the story. In a word, Shanqilshatsuq betrayed me… for the sun-haired man. The pompous woman believed her beauty entitled her to something beyond a mere 'prince.' In her youthful naivety, she wrongly believed the man to be a god. I did not know for a while, in fact. I had a suspicion on the night of our wedding, for she did not break as a proper maiden should. But I was so enamored of her perfection that I ignored my better judgment. I blinded myself to her deception, because I wanted her so. In retrospect, I realize I did not wish to know the truth. It was not until over a season later that the truth fell screaming from her loins, the spawn of a fair-skinned demon. Never did I think so hideous a monstrosity could come from one so elegant as Shanqilshatsuq. It defies reason, boy!" the Bosun decried with great intensity.

Pocahontas's jaw fell open. Was this man referring to a hybrid child as a 'monstrosity'? It was not the child's fault it had been born. The Bosun's outburst did not sit right with Pocahontas. If she got her way, her own future children would be of two peoples as well. The young woman felt her hands shaking slightly. The story had gone far enough at this point, and she feared hearing the rest of it.

But the Bosun continued regardless. "When caught, she confessed. As you can imagine, Shanqilshatsuq's crime had to be punished according to our ways. Mere infidelity is put to rest with a painful death, but Shanqilshatsuq's case was extreme. Because she had chosen to lie with the devil, her demise was long and slow, and it began with the burning of the squalling demon spawn before her eyes." Pocahontas's body went numb in an instant. She could not process what he had said.

After all they had discussed, after she had thought she had come to understand him, her fear of this enormous man returned with a vengeance. She could scarcely stop her body from trembling as he continued his tale, blind to her horrified demeanor. The ringing in her ears took on a heightened trill when she heard a chuckle escape his lips.

The Bosun was smiling. "At dawn the morning after, we ambushed the demon's settlement with well over a thousand warriors. Their guns killed many of our men, but the sacrifice turned out to be well worth it when the sun-haired man was captured. Do you know what we do with demons in our land?" he asked her with a vengeful gleam in his eye. Pocahontas gulped and shook her head slowly.

"We take three or four hooks about the size of my fist," the Bosun explained, showing her his large fist for reference. "Then we stab them through the skin along the demon's shoulders until the points stick through, just the skin—not the muscle or the bones. The ends of the hooks are tied to heavy rope. We used the rope to hang the demon from a tree, but that was only the beginning…"

Pocahontas suddenly felt her stomach lurch, and knew it was about time to find a way to slip off. The relief at discovering the sun-haired man in the tale could not have been John Smith did nothing to assuage her horror. Thinking fast, she feigned a yawn. "Your story is wonderful, sir. I have been up very long. Can continue later?" she timidly inquired.

The Bosun blinked, but then nodded. "Of course, a growing boy needs his sleep. Run along, child. There are many more stories to tell and plenty of time for the telling," he said, rising to his feet. He trod over to the door and opened it for her departure.

Pocahontas stood up, but just when she was about to go, the Bosun suddenly said, "Oh, but one more thing before you retire, boy. It is a very important thing that I have been meaning to warn you about. I know you are still a child and would not know better, so it would be wise to heed my advice."

Pocahontas stopped in her tracks and raised a brow in curiosity, so he continued, "We destroyed all the men in the settlement that day, but there were still some on the ship. They left and returned with an armada, and you can guess what happened afterwards. White men cannot be trusted, boy. Do not trust your white friend, the one with the ivory-pale skin. You know whom I am talking about. He may have helped you in London, but that is all part of their deceit. He wants something from you. Be on the lookout," he warned. "And never underestimate the white man's wit. It is his most dangerous weapon."

With that, he allowed her to leave and shut the door behind her to retire himself. Pocahontas was extremely shaken at that point, so she suddenly found herself bolting through the halls and up the stairwell to the crew's sleeping quarters. She found Rolfe in one of the hammocks, but he was so exhausted from the day's work that he was impossible to rouse. She desperately wanted him to comfort her, but she knew she would have to wait. Not wanting to rob him of much-needed sleep, she resolved to address the issue the following day.

Pocahontas curled up in the hammock below his. Despite her suspicion that sleep would be elusive after listening to such a horrifying tale, she found that she did feel slightly better being close to Rolfe, even if he was fast asleep. She briefly glanced around the room to make sure all the sleeping pirates were facing away before she reached up and held his dangling hand. That small bit of warmth was enough to calm her nerves, and she eventually fell to troubled dreams.


	3. No One Makes a Fool of Finley Flame

**The Adventures of Pocahontas and John Rolfe**

Chapter 3: No One Makes a Fool of Finley Flame

The next morning, Pocahontas was nervous about trying to separate John from the crew, or even approach him in view of the others. She needed the Bosun's trust, and could not afford to arouse his suspicion.

In the late evening, Rolfe showed up in the mess hall and sat at one of the less populated tables waiting to be served. At last, Pocahontas spotted an opportunity. The Bosun had not arrived yet, so she found a stray piece of parchment in the galley and wrote a brief note on it. When she went to serve John, she smoothly slipped it into his hand as she laid his plate before him. She saw him blink in surprise, but he did not say anything other than "Thank you, Cabin Boy."

Rolfe watched as Pocahontas nodded and left to fill other orders. When she was gone, he unfolded the note in a concealed position and read it: _"John, meet me in the hold after hours. Destroy this note once you've read it. ~Pocahontas"_ He immediately tore it up and chucked it out the tiny portside window behind him when nobody was looking.

When Pocahontas finally arrived in the hold later that night, John was already there with a look of deep concern on his face. "Pocahontas, what is it? Did something happen? Is it bad?" he immediately blurted the moment he caught sight of her.

Pocahontas did not reply immediately. As he approached, she held up her hands to receive his. Their fingers automatically intertwined as they met. She peered around and double-checked the door was closed behind her. Turning back to John, she bit her lip. The emotions she had felt the night before upon hearing the horrifying tale returned when she felt it safe at last to purge them. Her eyes filled with tears.

Seeing the glassy look in her eyes, Rolfe started to panic. _"Pocahontas, what is it?"_ he insisted, bringing a hand up to cup her cheek. He gazed intensely into her eyes in an attempt to assess what she was thinking about.

Pocahontas hesitated, trying to think of how to express what she wanted to say. When she started, her voice broke almost immediately. "S-something happened last night," she stuttered out.

Rolfe's eyes widened and he felt a vein on his forehead bulge. "What? Did someone hurt you? Who? I'll kill him!" he snapped, heart starting to race. He was relieved when Pocahontas shook her head, but his concern still showed. "Then what? What's made you so upset, love?"

Pocahontas sat down with Rolfe on a couple of short kegs and began to tell the story, starting from when she had eavesdropped on the pirate clique in the mess hall. She strangely found herself leaving everything about the spirits out of the picture, as she seemed to worry that John would not understand. Regardless, she observed him listening intently.

When she arrived at the part about the murdered woman and child, her voice started to crack again and she felt herself hyperventilating. Rolfe placed a hand on her shoulder. "Pocahontas, I think I know where this is heading. If you don't want to finish, you don't have to," he told her.

"It was bad, John. What they did—I can't imagine why anyone would…" she left the thought unfinished and wiped a tear from her eye with her sleeve.

Rolfe snorted. "Poor woman. I know what she did was considered a sin, but I find it hard to blame her considering the man already had over _thirty_ wives. Now, that is just plain greedy. A lady should not have to share with so many. Think of how little attention she would get anyway when he took a new bride after her," he remarked as Pocahontas buried her face in his chest.

She heaved into his shirt. "And then he said they attacked the camp and tortured the father to death. It almost felt like he was implying that it was something he wanted to do to you as well, just because of how you look. He hasn't even spoken a word to you, but the way he looks at you makes me think…"

Rolfe put a finger to her lips to silence her troubled thoughts. "Maybe if I tell you a similar story with a happier ending, you will feel better. It's a true story from the Bible. Would you like to hear it?"

Pocahontas blinked and raised an eyebrow in curiosity. She sniffed. "Okay, but only if nobody gets hurt."

"Nobody gets hurt," he confirmed. "This is nothing like the story of Jesus's crucifixion, I promise." Rolfe made the sign of the cross over his chest. "Cross my heart, hope to die."

Pocahontas perked up and scooted her keg a little closer to his, wiping her tears away. "Okay, sure," she said, sniffing. Throughout the peaceful leg of the Virginia-bound voyage, Pocahontas and Rolfe had spent a great deal of time exchanging stories from their respective cultures. Pocahontas was particularly fond of the stories surrounding King Arthur. Biblical tales and English fairytales were of particular fascination as well. Rolfe was quite a skilled storyteller, almost as good as Pocahontas herself, so she very much enjoyed listening.

It was about a month after they had set sail from London that Pocahontas started teaching Rolfe her native language. The children in her village loved stories so much that she hoped he might regale them around the bonfire at some later time. John was slow to pick up the Powhatan tongue though, as it was so radically different from his own. Learning French and Spanish had been a breeze compared to Powhatan. It also did not help that Rolfe was a visual learner, and Powhatan did not have a written form to aid his memory.

"Alright," Rolfe replied, adjusting his seating to get more comfortable. "If my memory serves, this one is from the Gospel of John. The Latin title is Pericope Adulterae, although my brothers and sisters used to simply call it 'Jesus and the adultress.' Now, as you might recall from my other stories, Jesus was a very compassionate man who believed strongly in the ideas of mercy and suspension of judgment," he began. Though the story was not particularly long, Rolfe described the setting and ancient culture in detail to give her a more vivid picture.

Pocahontas found herself instantly absorbed and listened to the entire story through without interrupting with questions or other comments. While she felt her heart stop when the gruesome mention of stoning came up, she became instantly enamored of the part where the main character told the scribes and Pharisees, 'Let any among you who is without sin cast the first stone.'

"And so, when everyone had left, he said to her, 'Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?' She said, 'No one, sir.' And then he replied, 'Neither do I condemn you. Go your way, and from now on do not sin again.' And that is how the story ends," Rolfe finished. "Now, is your mind a bit more at peace?"

Pocahontas nodded. "Yes, but I still fear listening to more of the Bosun's stories. How much worse could they get? I'm afraid to find out. That first one started out so wonderful in the beginning… I never expected the ending to be so horrible."

"I understand, Pocahontas. But I think it is important that you try to keep up this good rapport with him, especially in light of how dangerous he is. You know what they say—keep your friends close, and your enemies closer. I know some of what he says will be hard to hear, but next time do not be afraid to wake me if you require my reassurance. Douse me in water if you have to, I don't care," he replied.

Pocahontas gave him a half-hearted nod, then rested her elbows on her knees and sighed. "I'm most afraid that he'll try to hurt you," she added.

"Yes, but if you speak with him regularly, maybe he'll tell you if he's planning anything. Then, you will be able to warn me," Rolfe countered, trying to lighten her mood with a smile. "Wouldn't you rather we have that advantage than be left in the dark?"

"I suppose," Pocahontas replied, sitting back. She started wringing her hands a bit between her knees, and then looked up at him again.

"So Pocahontas, I do have a bit of good news," Rolfe said, changing to a more pleasant subject. "I've convinced one of the navigators to make me his apprentice. If I can earn his trust, then he might leave me alone with the land map long enough for me to copy it. I know we have not seen any land yet, but we will be coming upon the Florida peninsula in the next two weeks. There is a French settlement there known as St. Augustine. If we can escape in one of the lifeboats near that location, we might be able to get the French to help us get back to Virginia. The French and British are allies at the moment, so there's a good chance we can curry their favor."

"What about Tortuga?" Pocahontas replied. "I thought the plan was to find a ship when we get there, sailing back north."

"That is a less preferable option, love, because Tortuga is full of cutthroats and fiends," Rolfe explained. "The French are of a legitimate nation, on the other hand. Plus, we'll get back to Virginia sooner if we don't sail all the way down to Tortuga. Thirdly—and I don't know about you—but I can hardly wait another minute to get away from these awful pirates," he said. He rose to his feet and placed a hand over the painful black eye he had received days earlier from one of the moody curs.

"Good to know we're on the same page," Pocahontas confirmed with a nod, standing up as well. She noticed as Rolfe started fanning himself with a broken piece of board and realized just how much she was sweating herself.

"You can tell we're getting farther south because it gets so much hotter," John murmured. "I believe it never snows in this part of the world, in fact."

Though the summer had just ended, the early autumn was usually warm in Virginia—but certainly not _this_ warm. Pocahontas started fanning herself as well and adjusted her ever-so-irritating corset. "Ugh, it feels tighter today."

"It's probably because we've been eating so much in preparation for our escape. I can loosen it. Good to know you've been following my advice. At least we'll be able to go without food for longer, now," Rolfe replied as Pocahontas lifted the back of her men's shirt.

The Englishman loosened the corset strings a bit and suddenly she felt much more comfortable. "Better?" he asked, receiving a nod from her. "Good. You should be able to throw that dreadful thing off the moment we flee," he added, stretching his back. "Now, I don't know about you, but I am quite exhausted. Shall we retire?"

Pocahontas gave an affirmative nod and they left for the sleeping quarters above.

…

Pocahontas opened her eyes about thirty minutes before it was time for the day shift to start. She did not like how First Mate Legless had a habit of barging in, overturning hammocks, and making tons of noise to rouse the crew. It was a horrible way to be woken up, so Pocahontas's body had quickly trained itself to rise before the wakeup call. She extended that benefit to Rolfe by gently tugging on his arm, so they were both sure to be awake and out the door before Legless even arrived.

They hurriedly went up to the deck and ate breakfast in view of the rising sun. While pirate culture was hostile to the very notion of romance, they still had ways of finding time for it at every opportunity. At the stern of the ship, they were able to get relative privacy too, as the late shift was busy at the helm and further up front on the vessel.

The risk of prying eyes was less of a bother at such an hour, but as a precaution Rolfe and Pocahontas avoided locking lips unless they were alone down in the hold. The crew did not frequent the lowest level of the ship, except when someone needed to gather supplies. Fortunately that duty was normally assigned to the Cabin Boy. Therefore John and Pocahontas came to see the large, dim room as a sort of sanctuary.

Due to the smooth sailing, Meeko's condition had improved significantly, though he was still nowhere near being back to his normal self. When she thought he was well enough, Pocahontas moved him, Percy, and Flit to the hold. Aside from the constant access to food, the hold was larger and afforded more hiding places. This was something that Percy appreciated in particular, as the crew had not even spotted him as of yet, and he intended to keep it that way.

After eating, Rolfe got to work by relieving a night rigger from the lower sails. He liked to be one of the first on duty for two reasons. For one, Flame would never have reason to doubt his dedication and willingness to work hard—which in turn greatly reduced the likelihood of a flogging. Furthermore, he had begun taking the initiative because he was able to select a lower location for himself, thus reducing the risk of a fatal fall. It was certainly better than waiting to be assigned a lofty position, which he almost always was by the fiendish Captain or First Mate. Down on deck, Pocahontas practiced solo with the wooden sword, waiting for someone to call her male name for the first errands of the day.

As they entered the third week with the pirates, Rolfe began to prepare provisions for him and Pocahontas's impending departure. He had found out from Nine-Fingers Nash, the ship's daytime navigator, that the Florida coast was expected to come into view within the next three days. It would take another two or three days before they drew close to St. Augustine, and therefore to safety.

After getting over the initial shock of the Bosun's horror story, Pocahontas found the courage to go back to him for more as Rolfe had recommended. The next story he had told her was quite bone chilling as well, as he had recounted his capture by the pale invaders and subsequent two years of brutal slavery.

The most disturbing part was the part about his escape—he had essentially gone insane after one particularly violent beating from his 'Master.' In the dead of night, after his release from the chains of his torment, the Bosun had snuck into the bedrooms of the man's young children and slit their throats, all three. He had subsequently murdered the master and mistress as well in a manner most brutal, and then burned their house to the ground.

The slave-hunters pursued him far into the wilderness thereafter and nearly caught him, but it turned out the hunters stumbled upon a band of treasure-hunting pirates first. After the Bosun watched the pirates rob and kill his pursuers from tall grasses, he gathered the courage to approach them and ask to become one of them. He had since been part of the crew for over two decades and never looked back.

After that unfortunate saga, the Bosun began to tell much nicer stories about the time before the white settlers arrived. His homeland sounded like an idyllic paradise during his childhood years. While their laws involved a few cruel punishments, they were almost never applied, as crimes had been extraordinarily rare. All in all, happiness had been widespread throughout the jungle villages.

Quicker than she realized, Pocahontas found herself mesmerized by the tales from Affrika. She wondered if she might ever see it in person. Another part of her mind was curious as to what Rolfe knew about it, if anything. As she recalled, he had listened to her recount the Bosun's tale in silence, giving no indication regarding his familiarity with the country or culture. He had seemed far more concerned with her upset state of mind.

…

When land finally came into view a few days later, Pocahontas was swabbing the deck while Rolfe and the rest of the day shift manned the ship. As soon as Nine-Fingers cried land ho, everyone on deck dropped what they were doing and bolted over to the starboard side of the ship to get a view. Pocahontas was the first to get there, as she had been the closest. While Flame had strutted over and ordered the crewmen back to work, Pocahontas simply began swabbing the deck near the starboard side so she could get a better view as they neared the strange land.

The morning mist at first was enough to shroud everyone's view of the subtropical land. It took the sun about thirty minutes to rise high enough to evaporate the mists entirely. When it did, the Bosun found Pocahontas staring jaw-dropped at the alien landscape. He walked up behind her and placed his hands on the railing as he looked out over the dense expanse of mangroves and saw palmettos. "Strange, isn't it?" he remarked after a few moments of quiet observation.

Pocahontas nodded. "I've never seen anything like that," she replied. "It looks like it would be impossible to even walk through."

"Not impossible," the Bosun replied. "It helps to have a machete, though," he added, pulling one out of his belt and spinning it in the air. He caught it by the handle and showed it to her. "You chop as you go. The sharp blade can cut through large saplings in one swipe. Of course, a native Affrikaan needs no such implement, but the pale men who came used them."

Pocahontas frowned slightly at the suggestion of mutilating the land just to pass through, but she took the machete out of curiosity anyway and examined it. "It seems kind of heavy."

"Helps put power into the swing," he explained. She tried to hand it back to him, but he did not accept. "Keep it. I have another. It is about time you earned your first weapon anyway, boy," he added, turning to return to his post.

Pocahontas nodded and thanked him as she went back to examining the blade. She barely tested it on the wooden railing, peeling away a paper-thin grain. It was very sharp indeed. She would have to be careful with it, or at least find a sheath for it. The Bosun had none, as he simply wore the item loosely tied to his belt.

Pocahontas tied the handle to her own belt, aiming the sharp side away from her pants. Somehow she felt proud of it. The Bosun had said that she had earned it, after all. She presumed he meant on account of her dedication to her daily sword practice. She had not even moved beyond the blunt wooden blade yet, and now she already owned a weapon.

The only other weapon that she had any experience with was the bow and arrow. Though the men in the village disapproved, she wanted to be as skilled a shot as they were for reasons she could not quite place. She had never shown an interest in any of the other war weapons such as the tomahawk however, mainly because they were used almost exclusively to kill enemies.

She continued to ogle the bizarre coastline, pondering the exotic animals and peoples that might lie within. The fruit supply had been running low because Pocahontas and Rolfe had been hoarding fruits. As a result, Pocahontas overheard as the crew asked to dock so they could gather more from the forest. To everyone's disappointment, Flame had made it clear that the ship would not be docking at all as hostile natives were rumored to inhabit the area. Pocahontas sighed as she continued to wonder what the dense land would be like to explore.

She got bored eventually and went back to her duties, swabbing the deck clean of any and all dirt and debris. As pirates always wore dirty boots and never bathed, this had turned out to be a tri-weekly chore for her. She did not mind though, as the mindless activity gave her time to think. With the Blood Draw some miles ahead of them, it was a mere speck on the horizon. Bleud and Flame had agreed to meet up again before passing St. Augustine, as they planned to sneak past the settlement in the dead of night.

Peering up towards the riggings, Pocahontas observed Rolfe deep in thought, likely trying to think up a way to get around this new development as the whole crew would be up and about at that time. He had initially hoped that they would be able to sneak off in the night when most of the pirates were asleep, but Bleud and Flame had come up with a different set of plans. They wanted to avoid detection as a precaution, because St. Augustine had been re-armed as of late after the last pirate attack it had endured. The settlement held no interest to them, so they merely wished to avoid it by sailing a little further out to sea as they passed.

When the winds evened out again in the early evening, Rolfe was relieved from his duties earlier than expected. He asked Flame if he could venture down to the hold to assist the Cabin Boy in carrying heavy bushels of potatoes and other items up to the galley, to which the Captain shrugged and gave his consent.

John met Pocahontas down in the hold minutes after and revealed his new plan. He figured they would wait until the ships approached the coastline again after passing the settlement. Then, they would take flight. Due to the direction of the prevailing winds, it would be more difficult for the two ships to backtrack and try to hunt them down after their escape. After that, they would simply hike north through the hammocks on up to St. Augustine, where they would finally be safe from the pirates.

Pocahontas nodded her agreement with the idea as she finished peeling her very last potato. Rolfe hefted up the cauldron with little effort and kissed her on the cheek. "Just think. In a few more days, we'll never have to cross paths with any of these God-forsaken brutes again!" he said in a voice laden with hope and triumph.

Pocahontas started to jump up and down in excitement, as did Meeko and Percy. Flit zipped around in circles. Rolfe chuckled, but said, "It's a bit early to celebrate, love. Let's save the festivities for when we arrive in St. Augustine. I think you're going to love the French, Pocahontas. They're quite well known for their delicious cuisine and tasty cheeses. Oh, and the pastries they make—delicious!"

"I can't wait!" Pocahontas cried. She would have jumped on him in glee if he had not been carrying a heavy load. "And then after that, I can't wait to get home. I wonder how Nakoma's been doing—and my father. I wonder if we're having a good harvest this year, and I really miss Grandmother Wi—" she suddenly stopped herself in the nick of time, then turned towards him to think of a quick cover-up.

When Rolfe raised an eyebrow, Pocahontas ran over to his side and kissed him on the lips. "Let's just say, I have a lot of people I want you to meet," she concluded, leaving it at that. The distraction worked, and Rolfe smiled and nodded.

"I better get this food to the cook before he gets impatient," he said, turning toward the door. Pocahontas shuffled over and opened it for him. "Thank you, love," he said as he left the hold. She followed behind him and they parted ways when they reached the upper level. Pocahontas went to find Flame for her next duty and Rolfe made his way to the galley.

For the rest of the day, Pocahontas went about her chores with a spring in her step. Not only was she thrilled about setting foot on solid land again but she was starting to feel more confident that her father might actually consent to her union with John. The Chief's primary concern in pairing her with someone had always been her safety. He wanted her to marry a strong warrior whom he trusted to protect her. She doubted there were many other men in the whole world that could have done what Rolfe did.

Most of the men she had known throughout her life, given the same situation, would not have hesitated to cross blades with the pirates. They would have been killed, of course, as the numbers had been overwhelming. Then Pocahontas would have been at their mercy—of which they had none. On the other hand, Rolfe's plan had been ingenious. He had shown far more concern for her safety than for his own selfish pride, and had effectively rescued her from a dreadful fate with his quick thinking. If that was not something Powhatan would give John credit for, then she would be astounded.

…

Supper in the mess hall was not as boisterous as usual, as the rum supply had nearly dried up. While this made the crew less prone to random acts of stupidity, it also made them far more irritable than usual. For this reason, Pocahontas found John Rolfe sitting apart from the rest of the men, as he clearly did not want to become anyone's punching bag yet again this evening. The bruises were still healing from his previous encounters.

Aside from that, Rolfe simply wanted to be alone so he could think, checking and double-checking all of his preparations in his mind. He had hidden a supply pack in the storage compartment of the lifeboat they were planning to hijack. As a precaution though, he kept the King's order and Pocahontas's necklace hidden on his person at all times.

Rolfe hardly even noticed as Pocahontas was delivering his meal until she was literally standing right over him. He jolted in panic when his peripheral vision decided that it was another pirate attacking him. The Englishman placed a hand to his chest in relief when he recognized his disguised lady friend. "Oh, hello, Cabin Boy. You gave me a bit of a start. Thank you," he said, turning his attention to the meal. He could see the concern in Pocahontas's eyes, yet he dared not acknowledge it in front of the others. _We'll be out of here soon enough, love,_ he thought. _Soon enough._

Pocahontas sighed and moved on to the next table, where she heard some of the men bellyaching about the current situation. "I'm tellin' you men, if I don't get me hands on a wench, chest of gold, or bottle of rum in the next day or three, I'm going to blow someone's bleedin' brains out," griped Bloodlet Bernard, a pirate of Scottish origin who also happened to be the ship's Master Gunner.

After three weeks of exposure to piracy lingo, Pocahontas had eventually learned that 'wench' was some kind of synonym for woman. The Bosun had implied that such women did not include maidens, but she worried that she did not yet know the full implications of the term.

Somewhat tired from the day's activities, she decided to shrug off the thought until she heard the next cur speak in reply. "Maybe the Cap'n'll let us go ashore now. There's got to be some Injun villages around somewhere. We'll snatch a few wenches to hold us over and toss 'em overboard later, or sell 'em in Tortuga. What say you, men? Flame is not an unreasonable man. I'm sure he'll listen if we explain how much it'll improve the men's morale, eh? 'Sides, what's he afraid of? We've got the bigger guns, anywho," he said, flailing his pistol around in the air.

Pocahontas felt her heart stop beating when the man's morbid suggestion received a round of approving cheers from his companions. Rolfe overheard as well as he was eating and felt his stomach churn. He had to foil their plan somehow, more than anything because he feared that Pocahontas would not be able to hold her tongue if forced to witness something like that. However, their fears were soon put to rest when the Captain made an appearance.

"I'll tell you men what," the scarred Captain suggested. "If we come upon a ship, you're free to have your way with the wenches onboard. But I'm not having us waste time looking for a village that may or may not even exist. The mangroves are thick along the coast and not easy to get through, even with machete blades."

As irritated as the men were, they were able to see reason in the Captain's argument. However, that did nothing to improve their moods one bit. Rolfe hurriedly devoured his meal and ducked out of the room before tempers really started to flare.

One great thing about Pocahontas's friendship with the Bosun—the one that Rolfe appreciated most of all—was the fact that nobody dared to see her as a target for their violent behaviors. Despite the threat the Bosun posed to John himself, the Englishman always felt much better about leaving Pocahontas unattended with the pirates when the large man was about. As he made his way out the door, he glanced back over his shoulder and caught sight of the Bosun just as Captain Flame joined his table. He gave Pocahontas one last glance as well. Seeing that she looked all right, he finally turned and left.

…

Rolfe retired to the sleeping quarters early, as it had been a rather long day for him. Meanwhile, Pocahontas found the Bosun up on the deck after her shift was over. He was staring down into the dark Floridian waters, as if in reminiscence. They talked for a while until he finally decided to retire and bade her good night. The large man took his leave, disappearing through one of the doors to the interior of the ship.

When Pocahontas found herself not following, she realized just how restless she was. She placed her elbows on the railing, overlapping her forearms, and sighed deeply as she watched the half-moon rise from the dark horizon. The deck was mostly deserted except for the nighttime navigator, Willem Gallows, and three or four other crewmen who were walking about, carrying out various duties.

With the winds strong and even, the ship was sailing relatively fast through the dark ocean waters below. Based on the black landmass in the distance, she judged that they were somewhere between a half-mile and a mile from shore. The mystery behind the bizarre landscape chilled her. From what she had heard, much of the landmasses they passed were actually islands. Many of them were allegedly connected to the mainland by narrow bridges of fine, cream-colored sand. They were called 'barrier islands' because they were supposed to protect the mainland from fierce storms that were frequent in the area.

Pocahontas heard a sudden, loud noise like water being blown through a geyser hole. She jolted at first, and looked up toward the bow of the ship. Not far from the hull, she glimpsed a giant glistening fishtail as it rose up and slapped the water. Gallows heard the noise as well and strutted over to the starboard side by Pocahontas. "Aye, lad. Looks to be a killer whale. Fierce beasts, those. I heard of one biting a man's head clean off when they get into a feeding frenzy. Legend in Tortuga has it they can eat the bottom out from under a ship. Best we head a bit further out to sea until we pass 'em."

Pocahontas blinked in surprise as the man turned and shouted orders to the small crew to turn the sails eastward. "Are they really like that?" she asked. "Have you ever seen one of them attack a person?"

Gallows turned back to her with a gleam in his eye. "Not with me own eyes, boy. But I have my sources. Better safe than sorry, I always say. Better to avoid those waters where legends abound. If I had me way, we wouldn't even be taking this route, but the Cap'n has the final word, and I ain't the Cap'n," he said.

Pocahontas nodded. She looked out to sea again and observed that they were retreating farther and farther from the land. She glanced a pod of the black-and-white beasts heading south. They were not far away from the ship yet, but given a few more minutes heading in different directions they would be. She almost jumped when she heard Gallows speak again. "Now unless ye plan to retire to the crew's sleeping quarters, lad, I suggest you make yourself useful and help me set up the cast net in case those nasty sea-vermin should attempt to follow us," he added. "We're woefully low on staff this time o' night."

The creatures did not really look that dangerous to her, but Pocahontas obeyed anyway. She walked down to the main deck with Gallows and helped him throw the top of the large wooden net container stored against the main mast. She pulled part of the large net out with her hands and observed it. "This looks confusing," she remarked.

"Aye, but it's easier than it looks. Just reach up and grab one of those large hooks hanging overhead," Gallows instructed, doing the same to demonstrate the procedure. He hooked one of the lines onto a thick metal hoop on one corner of the net.

Pocahontas had to hop up to be able to reach one on her side, but she grabbed it and weighed it down, which effectively spun the pulley it was attached to, giving her more slack. She held onto the hook as she searched through the mass of netting for a metal ring, like Gallows had done. When she found it, she hooked it on. "Now do the other one, and then I recommend you go get some shuteye, lad," he said, doing the same on the opposite side.

She nodded and found the other metal ring in the netting, pulling it out for easy access. Glancing up, she spotted the second hook slightly higher than the first. When she jumped up to grab it however, she missed at first. She tried again. This time her fingers missed it, but the loose sleeve of her collared men's shirt did not. The pulley turned out to be badly rusted, because as Pocahontas started to descend, the metal hook tore the shirt halfway off.

Pocahontas stumbled on her feet and gasped, gazing up at the wide-eyed navigator like a doe caught in a hunter's torchlight. Gallows stared back at her in jaw-dropped silence for an extended moment, trying to process what he was seeing. The corset wrapped around her torso was not the dead giveaway so much as the swell right at the top. She watched in horror as the puzzled expression slowly curled upwards into an ominous grin. "Tis a wench!" cried one of the other crewmen as he swung down a rope from one of the lower sails, landing about twenty paces from her.

Pocahontas yelped and tried to scramble away, but the shirt was still caught on the hook and her arm was still caught in the other sleeve. "Looks like the devil answered our prayers, men," Gallows echoed back. He rounded the net container and pushed the other pirate out of the way as he closed in on her. In her peripheral vision, Pocahontas could see the rest of the night crew climbing down from the riggings, hooting and hollering loudly. She turned and tugged madly at the caught shirt, but Gallows was upon her in an instant with his thick fingers around her slim neck.

She felt her heart pounding in her chest when suddenly she heard a thump, and Gallows' back snapped straight. The leer fell from his face in an instant and his grip on her throat weakened. Before she knew it, he had collapsed on his belly in front of her. The handle of a dagger protruded from his upper back, right on the spine.

As she stared down at the dead navigator, her ears detected the clatter of swords, as well as the other night crewmembers yelling. She glanced up again and watched as Rolfe withdrew his blood-splattered blade from the belly of a rigger, spinning around in one smooth motion to shear another attacker's head clean off the shoulders. As more of the night crew surrounded him, he fought with a ferocity she had not seen since Kocoum attacked John Smith almost a half-decade ago.

Though he suffered a painful gash, Rolfe disarmed the last two opponents and found an opening to run towards her. "Pocahontas, you have to swim to shore," the Englishman cried as he used his sword to cut her shirt free from the hook. He gathered her up on his shoulder in a rush and climbed up to quarterdeck as another few pirates appeared from inside the ship. Arriving at the starboard side, he did not hesitate for an instant to chuck her overboard. Looking up, Rolfe gasped when he observed the land was farther away than expected. "Damn!" he cursed to himself.

A stunned Pocahontas surfaced in the warm dark waters. "Swim with all your might, Pocahontas! I'll follow!" he cried down to her. He heard her cough a bit. To his relief, she quickly gathered her wits and turned away from the ship, launching her body into a smooth front crawl as she made for land.

Rolfe immediately turned to the lifeboat a short way down the deck—the one they had planned to steal. There was no time to launch it now, but he knew without doubt they would need the survival provisions the supply compartment contained.

"The wench is getting away!" another furious voice came. "Get her, you idiots! I'll deal with the traitor!" It was Spike-Eyes, the silent one that had freed them from the prison cell all those weeks ago. A subordinate made to dive into the water on the starboard side, but Rolfe threw his sword with miraculous aim, spearing the man right through the heart as he dove overboard. The dead body made a sizable splash, and then sank to the depths.

Rolfe jumped back down onto the main deck from the story above and robbed the dead navigator of his weapon and the land map. John had to make it to the lifeboat, and then to the stern to drop the anchor. He had to buy them time to swim to shore, the more the better. With the anchor down, Flame would have to rouse the whole crew to pull it back up.

"FLIT!" Rolfe shouted at the top of his lungs. It took John about thirty seconds to make it to the lifeboat, disarming one man by shearing off his sword-wielding hand along the way. The pirate fell screaming to the deck, holding his wrist as blood spurted from the wound. The Englishman tore the top off the compartment and grabbed the supply pack. He stuffed the land map inside and tossed the pack over his shoulder. Just then, the aforementioned hummingbird arrived, looking to be in a panicked frenzy.

"Flit, we're escaping! Pocahontas is in the water. Tell Percy and Meeko to jump overboard and follow us to shore!" he instructed, running down the length of the ship towards the stern at breakneck speed. Flit buzzed alongside him, taking a moment to glance into the waters beyond the ship. When the hummingbird saw Pocahontas swimming away, he turned back to Rolfe and gave a nod. As Rolfe reached the anchor, there was more clattering from down below. The men in the sleeping quarters had been roused. The Englishman swallowed hard, realizing with trepidation just how pissed the pirates were going to be soon enough. He had to get away, so he kicked back the anchor stop and made straight for the starboard side. The anchor fell heavily, splashing in the dark depths.

Just then Flame emerged from his quarters, cutting off the Englishman's path. "What the bloody hell is going on?" the crotchety Captain raged. He met ice-cold eyes with Rolfe, who immediately gritted his teeth in apprehension and backed away. From what John had seen of Flame's fencing abilities during practice, the scarred man was not one to be crossed, or to cross blades with.

"The Cabin Boy, Captain!" cried one of the voices. "Not a young boy at all, but a full-grown wench! They've deceived us, the two of them!"

Rolfe did not wait for the Captain's response to the shocking news. He re-sheathed his sword, turned tail, and dove over the port side of the ship. He used the weight of the sword to dive deep down under the ship's hull, passing beneath the keel to the starboard side. This worked as a momentary distraction, as the flustered crew focused its attentions on the port side thinking he would resurface there.

"COWARD!" Flame bolted over to the port side and emptied the bullets in his pistol into the black water. When he ran out he screamed in fury, chucking the whole gun into the sea. _"Where is he?"_ the Irishman raged, clinging to the rail as he waited for Rolfe to surface. He grabbed a fellow pirate by the shirt collar and threw him overboard. "Find him or it be fifty lashes for ye!" he shouted as the man fell screaming.

The Captain turned dangerous eyes to the rest of the crew. "Riggers up to the riggings! The deserters are fools if they think they can outswim us! Turn this ship landward!" he commanded.

"But the anchor's down, sir!" came another voice.

"Cut it loose, fool!" Flame snapped. When the young pirate took too long to saw through the thick rope with his dagger, the Captain strutted over and sheared right through the man's belly with his sword. He was about to cut the anchor line next, but he suddenly felt intense pain in his ankle. If it were not for his own screaming, he would have heard Percy snarling at him as the pug dog tried to pull him away from the anchor line. The bite made him drop his sword. Meeko quickly snatched it and dragged it out of reach, causing the Captain to let loose a furious howl.

Another voice came from the starboard side. "He's swum under the ship, Captain! Rolfe is on the starboard side! They're heading for shore! I can't even see the wench anymore, too dark! She can't have gotten far though!"

Flame kicked Percy off of him with a ferocious growl, and shouted back, "Shoot him, you nitwit! Shoot 'im in his bloody head!"

The pirate scrambled for his pistol and accidentally dropped it overboard. He looked back at the Captain with sheer panic written all over his face. Seeing the death warrant in Flame's eyes, the doomed man dove off the ship himself to flee. The possibility of hostile natives was a dream compared to Flame's guaranteed Irish temper any day. Other men were shooting into the water to appease Flame, so Rolfe dove down deep to avoid the bullets zipping by.

All the riggers had taken up position and were collectively turning the sails as ordered. This positive development only improved Flame's mood slightly. He grabbed a dead pirate's blade from its hilt and severed the anchor's line. The ship bobbed up, free of the tether, and the bow started to turn toward the land in the nighttime breeze. "Full sail ahead!" the Captain shouted.

Rolfe resurfaced for a gasping breath much further away. Meanwhile Meeko and Percy dove off the starboard side to join them, just barely avoiding the slice of swords. Flit buzzed around a few heads to make the gunners' aims less accurate. "What the bloody hell is that thing?" one of the pirates cried, just before falling backwards over the railing from Flit's harassment.

Pocahontas stopped swimming and looked back toward the ship, relieved to see Rolfe in the water behind her. Closer to the ship, she spotted Meeko and Percy treading water in their direction as well.

"Drop your rifles, men! Those two have given up the right to a quick death. I want them both captured alive!" Flame wailed, jumping up onto the bow railing and pointing his sword in the direction of the fugitives. Even Rolfe had paddled far away enough to fade into the blackness. "I want the Brit and Injun wench back onboard in less than fifteen minutes! Or I'll flog the lot of you!"

"Aye, sir!" cried the whole crew in unison. The ship began gaining speed as the crew worked together to adjust the riggings.

Rolfe swam with all his might without even glancing backwards. Before he knew it, he bumped into another body. "Pocahontas, what are you doing here? You should've gotten much farther away by now!" he cried.

"I had to wait for you!" the young woman retorted.

John shot a glance over his shoulder and panicked. "They're going to gain on us fast!" He coughed up some water.

Pocahontas recognized quickly that he appeared to be having trouble staying afloat. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"The sword, it's weighing me down! I'm so tired. Pocahontas, you have to go ahead. No matter what happens, get to safety! Please!" he cried, gurgling as water rushed into his mouth.

Pocahontas narrowed her eyes at Rolfe and reached down to his waist, unhooking the hilt of the sword from his belt. It dropped to the seabed before he could even catch it. "I needed that, Pocahontas! I need some kind of weapon. Now we're completely defenseless against them!"

"What we need is to get to shore," Pocahontas countered, tugging him along. "Come on!"

"I can't make it. I don't have the strength. I'll distract them while you escape!" he replied, kicking alongside her weakly. "And I'm bleeding from the wound. Sharks will come soon. You have to get away from me while you still have the chance. Please, Pocahontas, I couldn't bear it if the pirates caught you. I know what they'll do. Please, swim away!"

"No!" she screamed back at the top of her lungs. She gasped when Rolfe sank a bit below the surface, and grabbed a hold of him. Not a trained warrior, he was unused to such exertion. While he had performed heroically at the outset, he could not keep it up without years of proper training beforehand—which he lacked.

As the ship drew closer, the torchlights began to illuminate them once more. "I've spotted 'em, men! Prepare the net!" Flame shouted triumphantly.

"Demon fish!" came a loud cry from one of the pirates—the same blond who had been flogged by the Bosun weeks back. He was pointing with a shaky finger at something churning in the waters off the starboard side. "They's going to eat the bottom out from under the ship!" he exclaimed. Flame rolled his eyes and grabbed another man's pistol, shooting at the blond.

Pocahontas glanced around and spotted the black fins in the water. There were about three between them and the ship. The young woman gasped and held onto Rolfe in fear. She had not been prepared to trust Gallows' word entirely, but neither was she prepared to have her head bitten off.

She heaved in terror as something large and slippery rose up between her legs, lifting her and Rolfe clean out of the water. John's body was semi-limp, so Pocahontas held him in place by his belt and grasped the animal's protruding black fin behind her to keep them from slipping off. Gasping for breath, she met eyes with the majestic creature as the ocean water began to rush by. They were moving—fast. In fact, the animal was carrying them away. But where was it taking them, and why?

When Flame turned back to the waters, he saw his quarry moving away. With the whale camouflaged in the night-black water, it appeared to the crew that Pocahontas and Rolfe had suddenly begun to swim at an inhuman speed. "Witchcraft!" one of the men cried.

"After them!" Flame countered, ignoring the superstitious idiot. "Turn the sails, they're headed northwest!"

"The winds aren't favorable, Cap'n! We won't go as fast!" another replied.

Flame turned to gun the naysayer down, but discovered he was out of bullets again. He chucked the gun into the water with a snarl. "I'll get them… I'll get them if it's the last thing I ever do! _No one makes a fool of Finley Flame!_"

…

Pocahontas had not realized how long they had been on the orca's back, as her body was trembling in exhaustion. She heard a sharp bark and glanced over her shoulder to see Percy and Meeko riding merrily along on a different orca. Flit zipped in the air alongside them. In that moment, Pocahontas sent a prayer of thanks to the Great Spirit for watching over them all, and leaving no one behind.

Pocahontas had no idea where they were headed. From his weak movements beneath her, Rolfe appeared to be conscious but completely drained and disoriented. Pocahontas's left arm got tired from holding onto the animal's fin, so she switched to her right arm and used her left to hold onto John instead.

Though her sight turned pitch-black when the ship's firelight disappeared, her night vision came alive after a few minutes in the darkness. The millions of stars above bounced off the gentle waves as they rode along. Pocahontas began to feel so calm that she let her eyes fall closed. She did not open them again until she felt her leg bump into something. Jolting slightly in surprise, she realized she had almost let go of Rolfe. She strengthened her grip on his belt and then discovered that they had come to a stop in calm water.

The whale ejected water loudly from its blowhole as Pocahontas's hand came into contact with solid dirt and gnarled roots as she reached to see what had touched her. She glanced about to reorient herself and saw Meeko and Percy jump off their own orca's back onto the solid land up ahead. The water was surprisingly deep here, though the mangroves kept the dirt from eroding along with the seabed below.

Pocahontas heard Rolfe groan and grabbed a firm hold of one of the thicker roots, letting them both slip off the orca's back and into the warm water. She held Rolfe's head and shoulders above the surface as he sluggishly groped the projecting roots. "Where… where are we?" he murmured in a weak voice.

"Safe, I think," Pocahontas replied. She waited until he got a solid grip on the roots and then lifted herself up out of the water. Turning back, she pulled on John's shirt as he shakily tried to crawl up as well. They were having a great deal of difficulty until the orca came round again and used its nose to lift Rolfe's rump clean out of the water, pushing him right up onto the land. He collapsed belly-down on the firm earth as the animal lingered.

Pocahontas placed her hand on the whale's nose as Rolfe breathed steadily, resting to regain his strength. "Thank you," she whispered to the gentle giant. It made a repetitive clicking noise and bobbed its head in acknowledgment. As the orca backed away, Pocahontas's hand lost contact with it. She stared out after the beneficent pod as they disappeared below the dark waves.


	4. Smoke and Ashes

**The Adventures of Pocahontas and John Rolfe**

Chapter 4: Smoke and Ashes

Pocahontas took the supply pack from Rolfe and pulled his shirt up to examine the wound. It appeared to be a relatively shallow gash along his ribcage, but the dense mangroves obscured the starlight and made it difficult to see. Flit came over to look as well, appearing quite concerned. "I'm sure he'll be okay, Flit," she said. When Meeko and Percy joined them, Meeko sniffed the gash in curiosity. The shirt was bloodstained, but it was not bleeding as much as before.

Pocahontas pulled off the remaining half of her sopping male shirt, wrung it out, and wrapped it tightly around Rolfe's injured torso. "Ouch," he murmured in a low tone.

"Sorry, John. I just want to stop the bleeding," Pocahontas said, applying a little more pressure. "It doesn't look too bad, but it's hard to tell without enough light."

"It's the saltwater, love. It burns like fire," he expressed, hissing in pain. "Thought I was going to pass out when I first dove into the water. Can't believe I made it so far. How did we get to land? Did the current carry us in?"

Pocahontas paused, narrowing her eyes. "Not quite… Maybe we can find a freshwater river around here somewhere to wash out the salt. It would be nice to get a bath, too," she replied, casually changing the subject.

"No kidding. I've actually got a skin of water in the supply pack, so I'd like to wash it now. It's hurting pretty badly," he explained, groping for the bag over his shoulder. He could not find it, and immediately panicked. "Oh, no! Did I lose it?" he cried.

"No," Pocahontas said. "I have it right here." She reached in the pack and found the skin of water. She untied the binding around Rolfe's torso, gently using the water to rinse the wound out. John hissed, but seemed to relax a moment later when the stinging from the salt gradually subsided. "Better?" she inquired.

Rolfe nodded sluggishly. After resting a bit, he unsteadily pushed himself off the sandy soil and into a sitting position with Pocahontas's assistance. "I can't… I can't seriously believe we're alive," he breathed. He glanced out at the black waters and gritted his teeth in apprehension when he spotted three sharp, grayish fins encircling the area.

Pocahontas saw them too, and whispered another thanks to the whales. Not only had the majestic creatures saved them from the pirates, but also from the sharks. She figured the predatory fish had followed Rolfe's blood trail in the water, but the orcas had outswam them to land.

"Well, I don't know about you, but I think we can wait until morning to dry our clothes out. A fire in the daylight is less easily spotted. Thank goodness it's so warm here, or we would have to worry about freezing to death," Rolfe expressed, shakily rising to his feet. His head lightly hit the branch of a mangrove, making him grunt.

Pocahontas suddenly gasped, and Rolfe looked down at her as her eyes filled to the brim with tears. "What is it, love?" he inquired.

"My mother's necklace… it must still be on the ship! I'll never see it again," she murmured sadly.

Rolfe frowned at her, and produced said necklace from one of his trouser pockets. Pocahontas's eyes widened, and she grabbed it. "But, I thought…" she began, examining the treasured item closely to ensure she was not dreaming.

"I only hid it below the floorboards at first because I feared the pirates might search us. Later, I retrieved it and kept it on my person. I've got the King's order, too," he explained, patting the long bulge on the side of his drenched trousers. He reached into the supply pack and produced the sopping wet map, frowning. "Hm. Well, good thing the King's order is in a sealed container, at least," he grumbled. "Maybe this thing will dry if I hang it on a branch," he said, doing just that.

Pocahontas put her necklace on and reached for the machete attached to her belt. She used the sharp edge to slice the top rim of the corset. Tearing the dreadful garment off, she tossed it aside. Then she undid her belt and pulled off the soaking wet trousers as well the binding Rolfe had used to flatten her buttocks. Her buckskin dress was filthy as everything else she had worn, but she still felt immensely relieved to be free of the other garments. "I think the first thing we need to do is find a freshwater river," she said.

"Agreed," Rolfe replied, mindlessly flipping off his wet shirt and ringing it out. "There's a lot of things here I need to clean, other than just myself," he expressed, tossing the damp shirt over a nearby branch. He drained some of the ocean water out of the survival pack and reached in to check the contents. "I figure the bread is pretty much ruined," he griped as his hand came out covered in white mush. "Yuck," he said, flicking his hand to get it off. "However, we do have enough waterproof provisions to last us until we reach St. Augustine. I figure it can't be more than thirty miles from here, though I'll check the map when it dries just to be sure."

Rolfe looked around the area briefly. "It's pretty humid here. We'll definitely need either the sun or a fire to completely dry everything out. That will have to wait. I say we start hiking inland to find us a river, like you suggested. What say you, love? …love?" he repeated when she failed to answer. He glanced at her. "Um, Pocahontas?"

She seemed distracted, so he followed her blank gaze to his own bare chest and abdominals. His face immediately turned red, and he snatched his damp shirt from the branch to obscure her view. "I say! Focus, Pocahontas! We're still in a survival situation and we'll need to stay on task if we're to get back to Virginia alive."

Pocahontas blinked, coming out of her trance. It was a good thing it was so dark, or else he would have seen her face flush in embarrassment. "Right, yes. Let's go find a river," she agreed, turning from him. She shot him a last fleeting glance over her shoulder, and then led the way into the mangrove swamp. Meeko and Percy immediately trod after her, whereas Flit buzzed ahead to scout the terrain for dangers. Rolfe tied the shirt around his waist and folded up the map, placing it back in the supply pack. He gathered the pack on his shoulder, following Pocahontas and the others into the unknown.

Getting around through the dense shrubbery was not easy, but they refrained from using the machete for fear of leaving a noticeable trail that the pirates could follow. At least, that was Rolfe's main reason. He made sure to bring all of their things, including the ruined corset, in order to leave as few hints behind as possible.

Pocahontas was by far superior at navigating through a difficult landscape, so Rolfe clumsily tried to copy every lithe movement she made. Granted, he ended up bumping his head on branches more often than he could count, but he was determined to keep up with her nonetheless. The good news, if there was any, was that the land was almost perfectly flat. It was an immense relief to Rolfe that they would not have to engage in any dangerous mountain climbs. Working the riggings on the ship had done nothing to assuage his fear of heights. In fact, it had made it much worse.

As they traveled further inland, the dense coastal mangroves gave way to a hardwood hammock filled with live oak, mahogany, and red maple trees, among many others. Many of the plants were unlike anything Pocahontas had seen before. Her curiosity spurred her to want to examine everything more closely in the daylight. Rolfe was happy to get away from the dense shrubbery of the mangroves, but the forest floor was not that much easier to get through. It was piled high with uneven debris and fallen tree trunks.

As usual, Pocahontas had little to no trouble getting around. She did not even require much light because she instinctively groped the environment with her hands and feet before proceeding further. On the other hand, Rolfe had to stumble and flounder his way blindly over gnarled roots and fallen branches.

They had not gone far into the forest before Flit returned and promptly signaled them to follow. Pocahontas glanced back at Rolfe. "I think he's found something!" she proclaimed. Taking to a jog, she deftly jumped over fallen logs and ducked under low-lying branches. "Come on!" she called back to the slack-jawed Englishman.

"Hold on, Pocahontas, I can't very well—Oomph!" Rolfe replied, finding himself with another face full of dirt and moss. It was too late though, because Pocahontas, Meeko, and Flit had already disappeared through the brush. Fortunately, Percy was kind enough to stay behind and keep an eye on the clumsy human. All John could do was push himself up and attempt to follow in the canopy-dimmed starlight. About twenty minutes later, Rolfe was just beginning to get the hang of walking through the dense woods when the moonlit end of the hammock canopy came into view. He and Percy heard the sound of Pocahontas's laughter up ahead, followed by a splash.

Rolfe looked down to his pug dog companion. "Well, I guess she's found clean water," he said, chuckling. Percy yipped and clamored off through the brush. Rolfe was too big to follow the same path as the canine, so he had to climb over a thick lichen-covered log to escape the forest. Though it looked quite sturdy, Rolfe quickly discovered how deceiving appearances could be. The bark did not hold to the wood due to moisture and decay hidden beneath the surface. Just as he boosted himself up he promptly slid back rear-first into a patch of sandy burrs, yelping loud enough for the others to hear.

Pocahontas and Meeko stopped playing and turned toward the edge of the hammock. "John, are you okay?" she called into the trees. All she heard in response were low noises that sounded like angry griping. She could not quite make out the words, so she turned to the hummingbird. "Flit! Go check on him, will you?" The tiny bird gave a quick nod and dutifully zipped off into the forest.

The first thing Flit encountered was the Englishman hopping around madly muttering a slew of ungentlemanly terms regarding demon shrubbery from the pits of hell. Ever the analytical type, the hummingbird examined the plant that had caused all the fuss, and then flew behind Rolfe to assess the damage. There were about a hundred or so stickers embedded in John's pants from just under the belt all the way down the length of his thighs.

Rolfe bit his lip and glanced over his shoulder. _"Is… is it bad?"_ he whimpered in an apprehensive tone. Flit merely chirped, spat on each of his wings, rubbed them together, and grabbed a hold of the first sticker with his pin-like beak. "N-n-no, wait! You can't just—AH-AH-AHH!" he cried as Flit tore the offending item out.

…

With a furious growl, Flame threw a dagger right into a marked point on the ship's spare land map, pinned to the wall outside his cabin. The crew watched in dread silence as the angry Captain began to pace. "We know where they're headed, Cap'n," Legless said, breaking the awkward silence. "Where else would they go? The only question remaining is do we try 'n track 'em through the wilderness or wait for ambush outside St. Augustine?"

"Both," Flame countered, chilling his First Mate with a stone-cold glare. "I already sent three search crews to the shore, to fire three shots if they find anything," he continued. "But they probably know we're going to look for 'em. The question is, do we signal Bleud to turn back the Draw? If they somehow make it into St. Augustine, we'll need both ships to raid the settlement. There's no way we can take the colony alone. Plus, the French surely have scouts out and about to watch for Injun attacks. Setting up an ambush won't be easy."

In the back of his mind, Flame knew that Bleud would not be pleased to learn of this development, and he would most likely blame Flame for being the one to vouch for the fugitives' acceptance into the crew in the first place. In all his years of pirating prior, Flame had never allowed someone to put him in a bad position with the head Captain. However, the thought of failing to catch his quarry was too unbearable to ponder. He turned to the head gunner. "Give the signal," he solemnly said. "We're going to take St. Augustine."

"Aye, sir," the man replied, running off and shouting orders to the other gunners. The crew spurred to life once Flame had made his decision. There would be heavy casualties for the crew, he knew, but he and Bleud staked their reputations on leaving no survivors. Devil willing, he was determined that Rolfe and Pocahontas would not be the first to destroy the notoriety he and the rest of the crew had worked so hard to achieve. He would hunt them to the ends of the earth if he had to, and beyond.

The scarred Captain grunted in anger, and walked over to the starboard side of the ship. He found the Bosun standing silently, staring into the dark waves as the moonlight danced off of them. The swarthy pirate crossed his arms over his bare chest in contemplation. _"Well?"_ Flame snapped up at the taller man. There was only the slightest shift in the black man's demeanor. "You're so silent all the time, o' great cat-bearer, one might think you weren't even pissed a wench got away with one of yer machetes. A wench!"

After a brief pause, the Bosun uncrossed his arms and leaned forward onto the railing. Flame waited impatiently for him to say something. He finally spoke. "I knew… that there was something. When they joined the crew. I could not put my finger on it. I thought it was just the white man. In fact, I was sure it was him. He was obviously hiding something…" he plainly stated, letting the thought hang.

Flame blinked, and drew his brows together. _"Some help you are,"_ he murmured in annoyance, strutting away. The sky seemed to crack with the firing of the cannons. Three times in a row was the signal. The Bosun made no reply and stared out over the waters toward the distant light. He watched as the Draw slowly turned back in their direction. A vision flashed through his mind that would have been terrifying to most. However the Bosun was able to savor it like the last ember of a dying passion, and a slight grin curled his lips upward in expectation.

…

"I hate this land! I hate this forest! And I _especially_ hate these plants!" Rolfe seethed through clenched teeth as Flit relieved his backside of the ninetieth sticker. Hardly able to take it anymore, John lay limply over a storm-bent tree and prayed it would be over soon.

"You alright, John? Flit?" Pocahontas called up from the river as she casually washed herself in the calm water. They were taking much longer than she had expected, so she was starting to get concerned.

"Yes, love! Perfectly fine! I-I-I-I just dropped something. Um, um… Flit's helping me find it. I'll be there in a min-UTEE!" he cried in a high-pitched voice right at the end as Flit pulled out a sticker that was buried particularly deep in his flesh.

Pocahontas rolled her eyes. "Well, you don't sound fine," she casually replied. With her body completely submerged in the water, she pulled off her buckskin dress and began to scrub it against a gritty rock to wash the several weeks' worth of filth out. She could see it mucking up the water as she cleaned it, and she stuck out her tongue in disgust. When she finished washing her dress, she wrung it out and left it on a rock, then pulled her boots and men's pants in from the riverbank and began to wash them as well. A bit further down the river, she watched Meeko and Percy splash around. They appeared to be enjoying themselves for the first time since the ill-fated voyage began.

Flit finally pulled out the last sticker and flew in front of Rolfe, giving him a nod to indicate he had finished. "It's over? Oh, thank God!" John cried. He reached back and felt around to find that all the sharp, painful burrs were indeed gone from his trousers. He shakily pushed himself up from the tree trunk and collected the survival pack over his shoulder again, begrudgingly thanking Flit for the agonizing but necessary favor. This time, he was more careful when making his way over the rotten log, and he managed to slide down and land on his feet on the other side.

The moonlit river came into view. Rolfe sighed in relief and headed down the bank, promptly covering his eyes when he spotted Pocahontas's buckskin dress lying out on a rock. Pocahontas threw her short hair back as she re-emerged from the depths, spotting John up on the bank. "You made it! The water's great, come on in," she said cheerfully. "Want me to wash your clothes for you, John?"

Rolfe flushed. "No thanks, love! I'll do it. I'm going up the river a ways, around the bend. Call to me when you're decent," he nervously replied, making a beeline for the brush upriver. He quickly disappeared around the bend, as he had promised. Pocahontas rolled her eyes, but went back to washing herself. It felt good to have clean hair once again. She could not quite tell in the moonlight, but it felt like she had developed a rash from the corset. Hence, the fresh water was indescribably soothing on her itchy sore skin.

Upriver, Rolfe dumped the contents of his pack onto a broad tree stump by the water. He had several apples, dried meats, cheeses, a half-full skin of water, three more empty skins for filling, two pieces of flint, a compass, a bar of soap, a razor, razor strop, hair comb, and the wet map from the ship. However with the exception of the map, the items were all filthy and covered in white mush from the ruined bread. He washed each of them in the river and laid them out to dry on the stump again. Lastly, he washed the pack itself inside and out.

Rolfe dove straight into the river and disrobed, using hardwood tree roots and the bar of soap to wash his clothes. He hung the garments on an overhead branch, and then used the bar of soap to wash himself. When he was done, he lathered up his face with the soap and took his sweet time to shave every last unbearably itchy hair follicle from his jaw and upper lip. He could hardly even remember how good it felt to be clean-shaven, and he sent up a prayer of thanks for the current privilege.

Rolfe was giving his clothes one last ring to remove moisture when he heard Pocahontas call to him. "John, I'm done!"

He called back. "Almost done here! I'll be there in a minute, love!" He washed the soap off his face and the razor, and folded the item up, slipping it back into the washed survival pack. After brushing his hair out with the comb, he put all the items save the land map and compass back into the pack. Finally, he put his damp clothes back on and tied his hair back as per the usual procedure.

When Rolfe returned to Pocahontas's location, he was surprised to find her wearing her buckskin dress and the men's pants and boots, complete with the machete on her belt. He could only assume it was because she did not want to have to carry the other items. When their eyes met, he noted that she looked surprised to see him. "The hair on your face. It's gone," she said, examining him closely.

Rolfe blinked. "Yes, I brought a razor," he casually replied, spreading out the map to look at it. While it was still wet, it had thankfully undergone very little water damage. Some of the ink had run a bit, but it was still legible enough to be of use. "Now, I figure we need to—" He ended his sentence abruptly when he felt Pocahontas's hand on his cheek. "Yes, love?" he asked, glancing at her.

"It's so smooth," Pocahontas remarked, stroking his jawline.

Rolfe raised a brow. Taking her hand from his face, he kissed the back of it. "Pocahontas, you've seen me clean-shaven before. Now, let's focus so we can get to St. Aug—" He was silenced again when she threw her arms around his neck and pressed a kiss to his lips. Though he widened his eyes in surprise at first, he did not resist and slowly slipped his arms around her mid-section.

When she pulled back a few extended moments later, she held him close like she had the time he arrived in the Tower of London to rescue her. "You saved my life," she murmured into his ear. "How did you know? I thought you'd gone to sleep. If you hadn't shown up when you did—" she said as she pulled back to gaze into his eyes.

"Funny thing, that," Rolfe immediately replied. He folded up the map and scooped her up into his arms, then started walking south down the river. "I was asleep, actually. Quite fast asleep, in fact. I started having a dream in which an enormous tree with long, drooping leaves was shouting at me to wake up and save you. I know, it sounds ridiculous, but who said dreams have to make sense? At least my intuition was spot-on, don't you think? Thank goodness for that."

Pocahontas eyed him thoughtfully as he carried her along, pursing her lips. "Not as ridiculous as you might think. Anyway, you can put me down now. I wouldn't want you to trip while you're carrying me. Where are we going?" she asked as he placed her back on her feet. Meeko, Percy, and Flit caught up with them.

"We're heading south. I'm not sure of our precise location, but St. Augustine should most assuredly be south of us. I figure we'll follow this river until we reach the bay that the settlement is located in. I am sure the river will lead us there. If not, we'll keep following the coast until we come to it," Rolfe replied. "All we have to do is watch out for pirates—and possibly unfriendly tribes. Once we get to St. Augustine though, we should be home-free."

"That's great," she replied, giving a wide yawn.

Rolfe draped a hand around her waist as they walked. "I think it's best if we wait until daylight to get some rest. Even though it's warm here, we'll probably feel cold if we try to go to sleep with wet clothes. Think you can hold out for another few hours, love?" he inquired, receiving a sleepy nod. "Good. I'm sure the sun will dry us right up. If not, we'll simply build ourselves a fire with the flint I've brought."

Suddenly in the far distance, they both heard the sound of cannon fire—three shots in a row. Pocahontas's eyes widened and she held Rolfe's arm, anxious. "It's them, isn't it? Are they attacking a ship? Why are they firing?" she asked. Meeko, Percy, and Flit looked concerned as well.

Rolfe furrowed his brows in contemplation as he stared out in the southwesterly direction. "I'm not sure, Pocahontas. But whatever it is, it can't be good. We've got to keep moving," he said.

…

Flame's expectations regarding Bleud's reaction turned out to be misguided. While Bleud was certainly pissed to discover a Brit and a woman had hoodwinked the entire crew, he surprisingly did not lay the blame on anyone in particular—except the two tricksters, of course. After all, the entire crew had bought the act. Everyone had been fooled, so everyone was equally guilty.

However, Bleud did turn out to be even more impatient than Flame himself, if such a thing was possible. He strutted around deck angrily as he waited to hear back from the search parties. Finally after a few hours passed with no luck, Bleud commanded the gunners to send the single cannon fire signal, indicating that it was time for the trackers to return to the ship. They would go over the new plan in accordance with what Flame and Bleud had agreed upon, and then send the parties back out to draw the refugees through the Florida wilderness toward St. Augustine.

The shot was fired, and the whole crew reconvened on the two ships. By that time it was nearly twilight, as the faintest glow marked the eastern horizon. Flame and Bleud drilled the search parties for evidence of the fugitives, but neither had found anything. One search leader thought they had been looking too far south, the other thought too far north. The third claimed they were probably in the right area, but that it was far too dark to search properly. Even with lamps, something like a footprint could easily be missed at night in a littered forest.

In light of these unfavorable circumstances, there was an unexpected switch between the two Captains. Flame was about to go on a furious rampage just as Bleud entered a calmer, more analytical state of mind. The head Captain put up a hand to stop Flame from doing something he would later regret. "They're right, Flame. It's almost dawn. We'll wait to send them out again. Then after dark later, we attack St. Augustine with both ships. There's a good chance the French have some tracking hounds for hunting game in the port. If we can get our hands on a few of those dogs, we'll have the advantage."

Flame suddenly calmed as he processed Bleud's new plan. "If we're going to take St. Augustine more or less immediately, shouldn't we keep all men on the ships? We'll need as many numbers as we can get to overwhelm an armed settlement," he proposed.

"Aye! Good thinking, mate. All men stay except one. We'll send our best tracker north after the fugitives. Adahy!" Bleud shouted into the crowd.

"He's in the medical bay, Captain," Legless told them. "Rolfe cut off one of his hands earlier, so say the other men. I doubt he's recovered. Must've lost a lot of—"

Before Legless could even finish his words, a copper-skinned man stepped forward. His wrist-stub was bound tightly with bloodied linen, though his tattoo-laden facial demeanor gave no hint of the pain he was in. Bleud glanced at Adahy and then grinned back at the slack-jawed Flame. "The men of his tribe were warriors, all," Bleud explained. "They knew how to stop rapid blood loss with great speed. Isn't that right?" he said, looking to the now one-handed pirate for confirmation.

Adahy solemnly nodded. "I wish to hunt the pale-face that did this to me, Captain," he replied, displaying his handless arm to the wowed crew. "I will make him suffer great pain, and then I will deliver him to you alive—as ordered."

"Sure you can pull that off without your sword hand, Chief?" a voice from the crew murmured. A series of snickers erupted from the crowd, though Adahy gave no hint of reaction—neither positive nor negative.

Bleud stepped forward, a look of reverence on his face that served to silence the crew. He clapped Adahy on the bicep of his uninjured arm. "Very well, soldier." He turned to the others. "PREPARE THE COCKBOAT!"

Bleud's order spurred the insolent crew into action, and Adahy left the ship with guns, ammunition, and a supply bag ten minutes later. His only accomplice was a rower, as he generally preferred to go on missions alone. Once the plan was set into motion, Bleud and Flame turned their ships toward the bay of St. Augustine. They would wait in the waters outside the bay until nightfall returned, and then they would attack.

…

Pocahontas yawned deeply. They had been travelling down the river all night until the tributary had opened up into a vast freshwater lake. While it was just past dawn, the sun was not yet hot enough to dry them off. Pocahontas was beginning to feel a chill as her body heat became erratic from lack of sleep. Rolfe was not in much better condition. In her peripheral vision, Pocahontas thought she saw his teeth chatter momentarily.

While they had both eaten a very large supper the night before, enough hours had passed that their stomachs were beginning to growl again. At first they were too chilled to sit down and eat, but the air warmed as the sun crested the forest canopy. "Let's have some cheese and dried meat," Rolfe finally proposed, sliding the pack off his shoulder.

"That sounds great!" Pocahontas replied without hesitation, lowering herself to the sand in a cross-legged position.

The raccoon perked up at the suggestion as well, but Rolfe quickly eyed him in warning. "Don't think you can steal all the provisions, Meeko. I'm giving you a small ration and if you want more, you'll have to forage like a proper animal," he said in an authoritative manner, wagging a finger at the mischievous individual. "And don't think you can steal from Percy, either. I'll hand-feed him myself, if I've got to."

Meeko crossed his arms and pouted at the Englishman, while Percy jumped up and down for joy. They all sat down on the dry sandy ground and Rolfe began to distribute the food. He gave Pocahontas an apple, a few strips of jerky, and a piece of cheese. She put the meat and cheese together and bit into them, savoring the flavor.

"It's too bad we don't have the bread. It would have gone deliciously with this," Rolfe remarked, pulling out an apple and a piece of cheese for Meeko. The raccoon greedily took the offered items and began scarfing them down without hesitation.

Flit showed more interest in a patch of exotic flowers than the food they had brought, so Rolfe dismissed him and turned his attention to Percy. He pulled out a piece of jerky and eyed Meeko carefully as the pug dog ate from his hand.

"Aren't you going to eat, John?" Pocahontas inquired.

"In a moment, love," Rolfe replied.

It took Meeko less than a minute to finish his entire meal and he quickly turned his attention to Percy's provisions, just as the Englishman predicted. "Don't even think about it," Rolfe warned as he offered Percy another strip of jerky, narrowing his eyes at Meeko. He held the supply pack in a protected position between his knees, and kept his gaze locked on the raccoon thief. "Shoo! Go find some berries, why don't you?"

Pocahontas rolled her eyes at Meeko's petulant expression. "Go on, Meeko. Do what he says," she told him. "You'll find lots of stuff to eat." The animal frowned and stalked off to go look for fruits, snails, and other small morsels.

When Percy finished, he licked Rolfe's hand affectionately and curled up next to the man's thigh. John reached into the pack with his clean hand and began to eat his own share as Pocahontas finished her meal. He handed her a skin of water, and she drank heavily from it before handing it back to him. "Had enough, Pocahontas?" he inquired, receiving a nod from her. She yawned and rubbed her eyes.

As the Florida sun warmed them, they both began to feel quite sleepy. Rolfe finished his snack quickly and yawned as well. "Alright, let's rest up," he said, lying back in the sand. Their levels of comfort increased greatly as the sun sucked the moisture from their clothes. Rolfe used the supply pack as a pillow to keep the sand out of his hair, and stretched out with a contented sigh.

The fine dry sand was soft, and molded nicely to the form of their bodies—a vast improvement over those dreadful hammocks they had been forced to slumber in for over three weeks. Pocahontas began to dig a shallow hole in the sand to sleep more comfortably on her side.

Rolfe cracked an eye open when he felt Pocahontas shifting the sand next to him. A moment later she laid down perpendicular to him and rested her head on his belly facing upward towards his head. As she closed her eyes, he ran a hand through her moist black hair and down the length of her arm. When their hands met, they intertwined their fingers together and rapidly fell asleep.

…

The sun neared the western horizon when Rolfe finally awoke. He had slept more deeply than he realized, as he quickly discovered that Meeko had successfully raided the supply pack right out from under his head. He shook the sand from his hair and found a trail of items leading into the forest, gritting his teeth in annoyance. He followed the trail gathering each thing as he went and finally happened upon the pot-bellied raccoon passed out high up on a tree branch.

Fortunately all the inedible supplies were accounted for, but it appeared that Meeko had eaten every last crumb of the food provisions. The empty pack itself was hanging on a narrow tree limb high over the Englishman's head. "_Seriously_, Meeko?" he griped as the animal stretched and yawned down at him.

Back on the shaded lake beach, the others had awoken as well. They followed Rolfe's footprints up into the forest and found him brandishing a fist at the lazy animal high out of reach on a live oak limb. Pocahontas snickered as she heard John's noisy rebukes. "I quite could've enjoyed a snack after our rest, but now we'll all have to go without until we reach St. Augustine. I hope you're proud of yourself, you hairy little thief!" the Brit snapped, pointing an accusing finger up into the tree.

Rolfe heard Pocahontas laughing and glanced over his shoulder. "I hope you're not hungry, love, because we're fresh out of provisions," he told her, placing his hands petulantly on his hips as he pouted at Meeko.

"He snatched your pack while you were sleeping, did he?" she teased. Flit zipped up to Meeko's head and started squeaking angrily at the raccoon, whereas Percy ran up to the foot of the tree barking and growling. The striped bandit just yawned.

"Don't bother, Percy. He'll never learn. Come on, then. The sooner we get to St. Augustine, the sooner we'll have our next meal," Rolfe proclaimed. He jumped up as high as he could to get the empty sack out of the tree, though it was much too high. Pocahontas had to climb up on his shoulders to get to it. She handed it to him and hopped down to the ground, watching as he put everything back in the sack and slung the bag over his shoulder again.

Pocahontas, Rolfe, Meeko, Flit, and Percy returned to the lake and continued their journey south, though they could not help being distracted by the beautiful array of exotic birds they spotted along the way. There were tall pink birds with long legs and spoon-shaped bills, hook-billed water birds with webbed feet, crested blue wading birds, red-colored hawks, multi-colored songbirds, and everything in between. The world was a marvelous prism of color and song as the golden sun encroached on the western sky, lighting up the horizon with a complex array of blues, purples, and magentas.

They were fortunate to find a few sparse bushes of edible berries along the route, eating as many as they could reach when they had the chance. Though the pint-sized fruits were not enough to be filling, it did help them keep their energy up as they travelled. None of them really seemed to notice any intense hunger pains until well after dark.

The night came alive with the sounds of crickets, bullfrogs, and larger unseen creatures slinking through the nearby forest brush. With the sky clear, the moon and stars were enough to light their way as the lake beach gave way to a freshwater marsh. They kept to the outer edge of the marsh, by the forest, to avoid sinking into the mud. Though they were not fatigued yet, Pocahontas did feel herself slowing down for want of sustenance. At last she needed a rest, so she tugged on Rolfe's sleeve and requested a stop.

"Are you alright, love?" Rolfe inquired, sitting down next to her on a fallen log at the forest's edge. Meeko began feasting on a collection of snails stuck to the underside of a rock, whereas Percy looked just as hungry and miserable as his human companions. Flit on the other hand was fortunate to be able to feed off of nectar, and there were many night blooms along the edges of the marsh. It seemed the hummingbird would have little trouble sustaining himself, unlike the others.

"I'm starting to regret not getting madder at Meeko earlier," Pocahontas said in a grumpy tone, shooting the raccoon a scolding glance. He purred at her innocently and ran straight up into a tree to pick at the bark for bugs. "How much further until we find the settlement?" she inquired, looking up at Rolfe with hopeful eyes.

He promptly reached into the bag and pulled out the map, unfolding it. "The freshwater lake should be getting salty soon. We should be able to tell when the scent in the air changes. It's supposed to open up into the bay that St. Augustine is located in, which itself transitions into the ocean on the eastern border. Once we reach the bay, we should be able to spot the colony on the far side. Then we just have to walk around the rim, and we'll arrive at the gates."

Rolfe paused and looked closely at the map. "We're probably getting close to the bay, and walking around to the other side should not take more than a day if we keep pressing. However, we need to watch for ambushes. Having a tiny scout like Flit is a huge advantage, so I'm not too terribly worried. We'll have him survey ahead of us to make sure we're not about to walk into anything we'd rather not," he explained in a reassuring manner, turning to address Flit. "Your job is an important one, little fellow. Think you can handle it?" he inquired.

The hummingbird nodded, and Rolfe rose to his feet. When Pocahontas sighed and asked if they could rest just a little longer, John's response was to heft her up into his arms and continue right along. Surprised at first, she did not seem to mind as she draped her arms around his shoulders.

As Rolfe had predicted a salty sea scent made its presence known about an hour or two later. The Englishman figured they were getting close. Pocahontas had taken up walking again, feeling encouraged by the appearance of the brackish waters. However, a second rather unexpected aroma mixed with the previous as they made their way through a sparse pine trail in the woods.

Rolfe stopped and sniffed the air. "Does… that smell like smoke to you, Pocahontas?" he inquired, raising a brow at her. The loud sound of cannon fire unexpectedly split the air, causing them both to jolt in surprise. Pocahontas and Rolfe looked at each other with wide eyes, and then both broke into a sprint through the tall grasses.

They bolted down the trail as fast as they could with the animals in hot pursuit. Rolfe followed Pocahontas as best he could through another mangrove swamp, nearly tripping on multiple occasions. They tore through the branches, not caring much if they received scratches or not. There was an orange light visible through the dense brush ahead. As they emerged on the beach of the open bay, all they could do was watch in horror as St. Augustine burned in the distance.


	5. The Devil's in the Details

**The Adventures of Pocahontas and John Rolfe**

Chapter 5: The Devil's in the Details

The wind carried the cries of men, women, and children over the bay. Pocahontas fell to her knees as she watched helplessly. Rolfe placed a hand to his chest, unable to process what he was seeing. Meeko, Percy, and Flit just stared with their mouths wide open.

Another cannon shot was fired and an explosion went off. It was hard to tell due to distance, but it appeared to be one of the French ships in the harbor that was hit. All of the vessels bearing the French flag were in flames. The main mast on one fell heavily on the deck of an adjacent ship as the Blood Draw bombarded another burning ship with more cannon fire.

It appeared to Rolfe that the settlement had been attacked first. The pirates were most certainly rampaging through the colony on foot, killing, maiming, and pillaging. They had to be searching for him and Pocahontas. The Englishman bit his bottom lip in woe. How had he not foreseen this?

Then again, he had been led to believe that St. Augustine was too heavily armed for a pirate attack. Why would Bleud and Flame attack such a heavily armed settlement that bore no great quantities of treasure, and how had they managed to succeed with only a few hundred men and two ships?

"This is all my fault," Pocahontas murmured. Rolfe turned abrupt attention to her to discover she had tears streaming down her face. She knitted her brows together in anguish and shook her head violently, burying her face in her hands.

"Pocahontas… what are you…?" Rolfe began, tapering off when she looked up at him sadly.

"There are children in there. I can hear them crying, John," she said. "If I hadn't gotten my shirt caught on that stupid hook, we could have stuck to your original plan! We could have warned them about the pirates. All those innocent lives… they're dying because of me. Why didn't I just go to bed? I should have gone to bed earlier and this never would have happened."

Rolfe had not in his wildest dreams suspected Pocahontas would blame herself for such a tragedy. He lowered himself to his knees at her side. "Pocahontas, that was an accident. There's no one to blame for this but the murderers and fiends responsible," he countered. "This is what they do. If they hadn't done it here, they would've done it somewhere else. They're pirates. They have no honor or regard for life."

Flit buzzed over and landed on Pocahontas's shoulder, whereas Meeko just frowned. Rolfe noticed as Percy raised an ear. Looking back to the burning scene, he began to growl. The Englishman looked up as well when his own ears detected a different noise hidden beneath the distant screams—barking dogs. He promptly rose to his feet and took Pocahontas by the hand, encouraging her to rise. "Come, love! We must leave. Their lives are in God's hands now. There's nothing we can do."

Pocahontas rose unsteadily to her feet and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. She pulled her other arm out of his grip, causing him to turn back to her. "Go where, John? How will we get home now? They've burned all the ships," she countered.

Rolfe placed his hands on his hips and shot her a look of unwavering determination. "If they think that's going to stop us, they've got another thing coming. Now, come along. We're heading north." He turned tail and began to trudge back the way they had come.

Pocahontas blinked and quickly caught up with him. "Is there another settlement?" she inquired, looking hopeful. He shook his head, but kept going. Pocahontas frowned at this. "Then why are we going north? What's the point?"

"This is one large land mass, Pocahontas. If we head north along the coast, we'll eventually reach Virginia," Rolfe plainly stated.

"What? Really?" Pocahontas replied in surprise, receiving a nod. She had not been the one to look at the map, and hence had not realized they could get to Virginia on foot from their current location. "But… but what about food? We're all out!"

"We'll find it, love. We'll do whatever it takes," Rolfe said as they pushed through the brush back into the forest beyond the beach. He was a bit more surefooted now. Though he did stumble now and again, his facial expression never wavered as he kept plodding along.

"But how long will it take? Winter is coming! It will be harder to find food, plus we do not have warm clothes!"

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," he countered. When she gave him a perplexed look, he added, "It means we need to stay in the here and now, and we'll solve future problems as they crop up. Our first priority is to get as far away from here as fast as possible because they are going to hunt for us. I heard the dogs over the bay."

Pocahontas gasped, and stopped in her tracks for a brief moment. When Rolfe failed to slow down, she spurred herself back into a jog, trailing after him.

…

Adahy shifted his feet in the sand by the riverbank. The tracks appeared relatively fresh, but he could not be certain how far they had travelled since they had been here. He knew they would find their destination an inferno of destruction and chaos if all had gone according to plan.

He could easily recognize two distinct human boot tracks, but they also appeared to be accompanied by a small dog and a raccoon. Adahy raised a brow in curiosity. The dog could be a problem if it could detect his scent and warn its human companions. However, the wind was currently flowing in the easterly direction, meaning that would not be a problem for now.

With other hound-assisted hunting parties coming from the south, surely they would head back north to evade them. He had to cut them off, and he was betting given their previous pattern that they would follow the same body of water when returning in the opposite direction. All he really had to do was lie in wait, although he was too impatient for that. He wanted the Englishman now.

Adahy loaded his rifle and began to head downriver. The firearms were not for the fugitives. They were only for personal defense against hostile tribes and wild animals. He carried a very different kind of weapon for use against the Englishman and his companions—well, mostly the Englishman. 'Mr. Rolfe' was the real threat, after all. The woman was harmless, as were the small dog and raccoon.

The dragonfly blackstone dagger laid in wait deep in his satchel. He could feel its impatient spirit voice whispering to him, spurring him to quicken his pace. The starving being fed on pain, of which it had been deprived for weeks.

"_Make his anguish so great that he will denounce his God to stop the pain. Deliver me his soul, and my full power will be unleashed. Do this deed for me and you will be rewarded with a wish of your choosing…"_ the sweet voice whispered in the back of Adahy's consciousness. He trembled in a mixed feeling of awe and trepidation. The dagger did not speak to him often, but when it did he became instantly entranced.

While he knew nothing of the Englishman's strength of will, he was well versed in the blackstone torture methods of his extinct people, the Copichicans. Their ancient gods designed the three-bladed weapon as a manifold torture device at the dawn of man. As a direct descendent of the first Copichican man created, he had inherited the first dragonfly blackstone dagger ever created—the only one ever imbued with a powerful spirit.

The weapon's strength had seen him through many hardships, and he intended to repay it in full. He felt further motivated by the fact that he could use the wish to restore his lost hand. The blood in his veins burned hot in anticipation of the coming ambush and his feet spurred to life. He raced down the riverbank at a nearly superhuman pace. The dagger would not wait, and it lent him strength and stamina. It wanted blood, and it wanted it now.

…

Rolfe collapsed to his knees after several hours of jogging alongside Pocahontas. The noise from the dogs was further away now. The hunting parties clearly were not moving as fast as they were, so the Englishman saw no harm in taking a rest. With the easterly winds, Pocahontas had pointed out the dogs could not have even picked up their scent yet. They still had time to escape to the far northern territories, but they would need food.

Pocahontas collapsed next to Rolfe, though she looked slightly less winded. John still had lingering pain from his wound, even though the bleeding had stopped. The hard scab over his ribcage did not take kindly to the turbulence involved in jogging for so long, even though the sand of the lake beach was soft under their feet.

Pocahontas noticed twilight emerging in the eastern sky over the canopy. "I can't run another minute without food," she murmured.

Still heaving, Rolfe nodded. "So, um… what do you know about living off the land anyway?" he hesitantly inquired, readjusting his position so he was sitting on his rear in the sandy soil. "I don't even know where to begin, other than to look for more edible fruits," he admitted. "Maybe Meeko can help us."

Pocahontas shook her head. "We need meat."

Rolfe frowned, as her statement made him feel instantly inadequate. He had never hunted before in his life, and was worried about what Pocahontas would expect of him.

When Pocahontas saw his expression, she knew she would have to take on a traditionally male role. He did not have the knowledge or skill yet to hunt for their sustenance. "Stay here," she said, rising shakily to her feet. Rolfe blinked in surprise as his ladylove strutted off into the pine flatwoods that ran along the lake. She paused a moment and turned back to him. "You have flint?" she suddenly inquired.

Rolfe nodded. "Yes, in the pack."

"Build a fire," she instructed, and then she was gone.

…

"Take a tally of all the survivors in our crew. I need to know the casualties. We might not be able to sail both ships if we haven't enough men left," Flame told Legless as they re-boarded their ship. The Irishman was clearly in a foul mood, as he had not been expecting such heavy losses.

"Some of the men are still chasing down escapees, sir. I won't be able to get a full count until they return," Legless replied as he began counting the heads that were still present. The remaining men shuffled about—some carrying supplies, others carrying hysterical French women down to the brig.

They had started with well over two hundred men and now Legless counted just over fifty. Three hunting parties were sent north with dogs, which accounted for nine men total. The rest were either dead or were pursuing French escapees into the Florida wilderness. Legless had no idea how many had gone after the survivors, but there certainly were a lot of dead bodies all around the settlement, and floating in the bay.

Flame punched a wall with his bare fist and screamed. "I was expecting thirty, maybe forty percent loss, but this is ridiculous. The men were careless." He seethed. "Rolfe is going to pay for this," he said between clenched teeth.

"Aye, sir. But we've got to find him first. Ah, here comes Bleud," Legless said as the Blood Draw approached from the other side of the decimated port.

Flame turned and saw the ship, cursing to himself under his breath. Unlike the Irishman, Bleud appeared to be having a jolly good time after the great pillaging spree. Copious quantities of French rum had turned the Draw into a boatload of drunken singing idiots after they had raided a ship stocked with alcoholic beverages of all kinds.

"Ahoy, mate!" Bleud called over to them as the ships fell side by side. "Where be all the wenches? Aren't ye going to share with yer pirating brethren?"

Facing away from them, Flame clenched his fists as Legless called back in a tone laden with victory. "Aye! The men are loading 'em into the brig for you, Cap'n. You get half, just as we agreed. Now where's our share of the rum?"

"Right o'er here on the deck. Get the ramp and we'll exchange," Bleud replied. The few men on the deck of Bleud's ship were boisterously drinking and dancing around. One of them got so carried away that he fell overboard.

Flame rolled his eyes. This was why the men had elected Bleud their leader in the first place, though it had been well over two decades ago. Bleud gave them what they wanted, and rarely made use of the Bosun's cat. But his sense of naval discipline had been slipping more and more as of late, and Flame simply could not allow it to slip any further. Revenge had to remain the top priority. Flame's black soul cried out for it.

Bleud was the only man on the high seas who could best Flame with the sword, so the Irishman knew he would have to think up an alternative method of ousting him from power. Watching as the men loaded French bakery items onto the ship, a thought came to mind. He knew Bleud to be half-French, and he also knew his favorite food was croissants. A wicked grin lit up Flame's gnarled face as an idea came to mind.

…

Rolfe walked along the edge of the forest picking up dried palm fronds, Spanish moss, and any other light material that looked like it would make good kindling. The emerging morning light helped him find what he was looking for more quickly. He had already collected a large pile of dry branches on the beach, but had discovered that they did not burn well enough. They refused to pick up the spark from the flint, so he figured he would need something lighter to start with.

Once his arms were loaded with as much bone-dry kindling material as he could carry, he walked back to the hearth he had selected near the calm water and dumped it all onto the sand. The hearth was a circle lined with flat stones on all sides. He kicked the small logs and branches out of the circle and piled up some of the kindling. Kneeling before it, he grabbed the flint pieces out of his pocket and began to strike them together over the Spanish moss and palm fronds.

"Come on!" he snapped in an aggravated voice. His hands were getting tired from the effort, but the spark refused to catch. He desperately wanted to get the fire started before Pocahontas got back, lest he prove himself to be completely useless. Percy whimpered lightly as he watched the Englishman struggle to perform a basic survival task.

Meeko and Flit had gone to assist Pocahontas in whatever she was doing. Rolfe found this to be most fortunate, as he would otherwise have had a bigger audience to watch this embarrassing moment. He sighed and sat back in the sand to give his arms a rest. After a few minutes, he started up again. He was about to give up altogether and chuck the flint into the lake when he suddenly saw a wisp of smoke. He fell to his knees and blew gently on the burning spot.

Percy yipped in excitement and ran over, helping Rolfe blow on the growing flame. When the fire burst to life, John stood up and started jumping up and down. "Yes, I knew it wasn't useless!" he cried, until something very heavy abruptly fell on his foot.

Then he began hopping around for a different reason. "Ooohh! Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow! What on earth?" Rolfe raged, glancing down at what appeared to be a giant nut. He plopped down next to it, holding his aching foot. When the pain eased up, he turned his attention to the item and looked up at the coconut tree overhead. The dangling fruits were rather precariously positioned twenty or so feet above his fragile skull, so he scooted to a different position around the fire and rolled the coconut along with him.

Percy came over and sniffed the item as Rolfe held it up, examining it. "It's got a rather tough shell. If there's anything edible inside, it's not going to be easy to get to," he said. He turned it to the opposite end and poked at the part where the stem had detached. "Then again…"

Rolfe reached into his satchel and brought out the razor and strop. He sharpened the blade and gently applied pressure along the grain of the coconut, making a small slit from the stem. He rotated it slightly and made another small slit, and then used the tip of the blade to separate the section from the rest of the shell.

He put the blade down and then used his fingers to tear the section straight down to the bottom of the coconut. The inside of the shell was a very fibrous material. He began tearing it apart piece-by-piece, tossing long fiber strands aside as he dug deeper into the fruit. Eventually he reached another hard shell, and blinked in surprise as he tapped it.

He was able to dig his fingers under the fiber around the inner shell and tear the other half of the outer shell off entirely, leaving him with a big nut about the size of a cannon ball. He shook the item and heard something slosh around inside. He looked inquisitively at Percy, who raised an ear in curiosity. "I think it's hollow, with some kind of liquid inside. The question is how to get to it."

On one end, Rolfe discovered that there were three small indentations. Poking at them with his fingers, they seemed soft compared to the rest of the nut. He looked for a sharp rock and began jabbing at them. They gave pretty easily and he poked three holes in the top of the nut with the stone.

He brought the nut up to his face and sniffed, then poured some of the semi-clear fluid out onto the palm of his hand and tasted it. "Oh, my. That's delicious! It's even better than rose wine. Want to try some, Percy?" he inquired. The canine yipped and stuck out his tongue in expectation.

Rolfe poured some of the sweet milky liquid into his mouth and the canine lapped at it enthusiastically. "Like it?" he asked, drawing back. Percy nodded and John finished the rest of the beverage. "I want to see what the inside looks like," he said, rising to his feet. He used two large stones by the lakeshore to smash the nut repeatedly, effectively breaking it open on the fifth strike.

The inside was a thick white material that appeared to be edible. Rolfe licked it and then shaved a small piece off with his incisors, chewing it thoughtfully. Percy panted up at him. "It's a bit hard to separate from the shell, but it is rather tasty," John said. He broke some pieces off with his fingers and shaved the inedible brown lining off with his razor before offering them to Percy.

The canine was clearly very hungry as he gobbled the pieces up and waited for Rolfe to prepare more. Together, they ate all of the coconut meat before the Englishman turned his attention back to the tree from whence the flavorful item had come. "I've got to get some more before Pocahontas gets back. I think she'll like it."

Rolfe slammed his shoulder against the trunk of the odd limbless tree to shake more of the fruits loose. One of them fell, but the others refused to let go. He frowned up at the tasty treats, and then shrugged. "Oh, well. I'll just get Meeko to do it when he gets back. He's a good climber," he said, picking up the one coconut that he had successfully knocked out of the tree. He got to work de-shelling it, as he had done with the first.

Meanwhile about a quarter mile into the forest, Pocahontas was poking around the different trees with her machete, trying to find wood with just the right physical properties to be fashioned into a makeshift bow. While Flit was trying to help her with the task, Meeko was otherwise preoccupied. The raccoon had climbed high up in a tree to stalk tasty anole lizards, of which he had found quite a few. She sighed in frustration and suddenly heard something shuffling in the nearby brush.

She crept over quietly and peered through the leaves to discover a land tortoise digging a hole in the sandy red soil. It was about Meeko's size, and Pocahontas's mouth started to water as she snuck up behind it. She sprung forward and grabbed it around the shell, dragging it out of the hole. The animal immediately retreated into its thick casing, but she knew the underside of the shell would be no match for her machete.

She chanted a prayer of thanks to the spirit of the animal for sustaining them before she began to butcher the meat with her blade.

By the time Pocahontas, Meeko, and Flit returned to the lakeshore, the morning sun was peeking through the canopy. Though she was pleased to see Rolfe had gotten a fire going, she was most surprised to find that he had striven beyond that basic duty. The sand was littered with strips of fibrous husks, some of which he was tossing into the fire as fuel.

When he caught sight of her, he immediately offered her what turned out to be a deliciously sweet milk-like beverage. "There's food inside the shell as well. Percy and I ate the other one. You've got to try it," he said, taking the nut after she had drained it dry.

As Rolfe cracked it open on a rock, Pocahontas realized he had not even noticed the tortoise meat she was carrying. She had butchered and gutted the animal in the forest, leaving the entrails behind. The shell, she used as a bowl to carry the prepared raw meat. As Rolfe was distractedly preparing the coconut meat, she slunk over to the fire and pushed one of the flat rocks closer to the flames. When it was hot, she placed a few strips of tortoise meat on top to cook.

As the meat began to crackle, a delicious scent permeated the air. Pocahontas watched mischievously as Rolfe's olfactory senses gradually awoke to the presence of roasting flesh. He turned around to see the tortoise shell Pocahontas had in her lap, and then looked down to see the meat cooking on the fire. "You caught something? Seriously?" he exclaimed. "It smells wonderful!"

Pocahontas nodded as she pushed another flat stone closer to the fire, laying out more of the meat. "Thank goodness for big, slow animals," she said, grinning.

Rolfe chuckled in reply and scooted over to her side of the fire, offering her a piece of coconut. "Dinner and dessert. Is there anything we're missing? Try this. I, for one, think it's delightful," he said as she put the shell bowl down on the sand.

Pocahontas took a piece of moist coconut and chewed on it. "It is good. I wish there was more," she said as Meeko snuck up behind her to snag some of the coconut meat out of her open hand.

Rolfe did not fail to notice and he snatched Meeko up by the scruff of his neck. "Oh, no, you don't! Hairy little thief, you've got to earn your keep this time," he said, rising to his feet. Meeko purred innocently as Rolfe carried the raccoon over to the trunk of the coconut tree and pushed him upwards. Meeko climbed up a bit and looked back down, raising a brow at Rolfe.

"Knock all the big, brown nuts out of the tree and you can eat with the rest of us. Don't bother with the little green ones. I don't think those are ripe just yet," Rolfe instructed, pointing upwards. Meeko glanced up and saw about seven ripe coconuts hanging overhead. He purred and licked his lips, racing up the tree to the top of the palm. "Good boy," John said as the raccoon enthusiastically went to work.

Some of the nuts were easy for Meeko to knock out of the tree, but with others he had to chew at the stems to loosen them. However, thanks to the masked bandit's climbing prowess, the group now had enough coconut meat to go around.

As Pocahontas roasted the tortoise meat on the fire, Rolfe used his strength to husk all of the nuts. Even Flit wanted a taste of the sweet milk inside one of the coconuts. Pocahontas figured it had to taste much like nectar to the little bird. When the food preparation was completed, Pocahontas and Rolfe exchanged some from their respective catches and began eating.

Percy feasted on the tasty tortoise flesh, whereas Meeko had taken much more to the coconut meat. Pocahontas and Rolfe ate equal amounts of both. Before they had a chance to finish all the food, Rolfe spoke up. Though the barking of the dogs had disappeared for a while as the distant animals rested, they had started up again and were surely getting closer. "I think we need to avoid stuffing ourselves at the moment. It will only slow us down. We can carry this food with us and eat when we get hungry again," he said, packing up what remained of his meal.

He wrapped the tortoise and coconut meat in spare linen and stuffed them in his survival pack. In his peripheral vision, he saw Pocahontas yawn. "I'm tired, too," he said, "but I think we need to get further away from our pursuers before we rest again. They still haven't picked up our scent, but they seem to know intuitively that we're heading north. If we get far enough, perhaps they will give up looking for us."

Pocahontas nodded, stretching her back. "Hold on just a minute, though. I think I drank too much from those nuts you gave me," she said, stretching as she rose to her feet. Placing her hands on her lower belly, she felt her bladder was about to burst.

"Alright, love. Hurry back and I'll snuff out the fire while you're gone," Rolfe said. He got to work as Pocahontas retreated into the forest to take care of business. The three animals followed to do the same. Worried that the wind might change, he went to bury the fire hearth in sand to mask the smoky scent.

…

He could sense that they were close. The spirit voice seemed to grow stronger, and Adahy slowed his pace as he approached the end of the river. A vast lake lay ahead, though he could not see well along the shore with all the cattails and other high marsh grasses. Looking down at the footprints, it appeared that Rolfe and the woman had crossed the river at this point to the western side, which seemed a bit flatter and less populated with brush. Hence, it was easier to navigate through.

The wind abruptly changed angles and began to blow in a more northerly direction. Soon enough, the scent of a dying campfire came upon Adahy's senses. His heart pounded as he glanced silently through the brush. The dagger lent him more strength in preparation. Strength for the hunt.

He spotted the Englishman forty paces away near the edge of the water. Rolfe was busy using sand to douse the campfire. The pirate was surprised to observe that he had no visible weapons anywhere on his person. The copper-skinned man had been warned that Rolfe had escaped with a sword—the same one that had severed Adahy's hand. But there were no signs of any such blade anywhere around the campfire.

Adahy grinned in delight. This was going to be far easier than he had expected. He darted through the brush and straight for Rolfe. The Englishman yelped in surprise when he heard shuffling and spun around just in time to be tackled to the ground by an overwhelming force. Adahy knocked the breath out of John's lungs, but fortunately for Rolfe the soft sand prevented any further injury from the fall.

However, Rolfe felt his luck was about to run out as the man on top of him used incredible strength to pin his neck to the sand with a handless forearm. He recognized the man's features instantly—a member of Flame's crew. This was the very pirate he had maimed before escaping the ship into the dark Floridian waters.

Had his windpipe not been squashed, Rolfe would have gasped in shock. Instead, he began to kick and struggle, using his free hands to punch, slap, and scratch at the assailant's face in desperation. Though the pirate was no bigger than Rolfe, he seemed to have almost supernatural strength. In his asphyxiating position however, the Englishman could barely process what was happening. His lungs demanded air as he struggled to get away.

Adahy's eyes gleamed in a mix of rage and satisfaction. Given Rolfe's predicament, his one remaining hand was free to reach for the blackstone dagger. When his skin came in contact with it, his strength doubled and the Englishman's struggles began to weaken.

He laughed wickedly before releasing the pressure from Rolfe's neck. He drew back, but positioned the ebony dagger by the man's jugular to keep him down on the sand. Rolfe coughed and wheezed madly as his windpipe opened back up, feeling the sharp blade pressed lightly against his exposed gullet. It burned as the dagger came alive, glowing red in the morning sunlight.

…

Pocahontas rapidly repositioned her belt and glanced around the forest, trembling in trepidation. Though she had never met an evil spirit face-to-face before, she recognized the signs of a dark presence in the instant a smothering pall of dread and depression washed over the forest. The birds stopped singing and all the wild animals began to run in the opposite direction, fleeing for their lives.

Meeko and Flit huddled together in terror, whereas Percy raised an ear. All four of them glanced back in the direction of the lake. The dark aura was emanating from there through the dense forest. Pocahontas gasped in realization. "John!"

Pocahontas took off, racing through the dense hammock with a level of agility even she did not realize she possessed. Through fearful, her loyal companions trailed after her. They could not allow her to face the threat alone.

…

Rolfe gasped, his heart pounding in his chest as he realized the true precariousness of his situation. "You will feel great pain this day," the pirate hissed at him. The burning heat from the blade increased and John had to grit his teeth to avoid crying out. The last thing he wanted was to attract Pocahontas's attention with a mad man on the beach. He dreaded what the pirate would do to her if he found her, even more so than to himself.

"Release me at once, you dog! I've no quarrel with you. My only desire is to get home," Rolfe countered through a stiff jaw as the pain increased. He squeezed his eyes shut.

Adahy snorted. "I should cut out your tongue for the lies you speak. Every Survivor knows your kind thirsts for the very nectar the gods feed upon. You are of an insatiable breed, a plague upon the earth!" Drawing back, he buried the tip of his glowing blade under Rolfe's belt and sliced clean through the tough leather. "Men like you should not have the privilege to be men at all."

Rolfe widened his eyes in horror as he realized the man's true intent. Thinking fast, he went straight for the pirate's only visible weakness—the handless wrist-stub that had yet to heal entirely. He grabbed a hold of the wound and squeezed, digging his fingernails into the bloodied binding to elicit as much pain as possible.

Adahy let loose a howl to rival a wolf's, but tore himself out of Rolfe's grip and elbowed the Englishman across the face. As the pirate raised the blackstone dagger over John, its glow grew brighter. Just before he could bring it down however, a small dog burst through the forest brush and bit his leg. He screamed and kicked the animal out of the way, turning furiously back to John.

"Percy, no!" Rolfe cried. Adahy would not let any weaklings distract him from his goal. When he saw the screaming woman burst from the forest in his peripheral vision, he ignored her and raised his dagger again to mutilate the Englishman's visage. Pocahontas arrived just as he was bringing it down, but it was too late. Rolfe's face splattered with blood.

Adahy cackled in delight—until he saw his own wrist and recognized that the blood on the white man's face was, in fact, his own. He screamed in horror when he observed that his one remaining hand was gone. His eyes darted around frantically as the lightheadedness set in. Peering over his shoulder, he spotted his severed hand and the blackstone dagger lying some distance back in the sand. The dagger's glow gradually faded, and the spirit cried out in rage. _Fool! You let a woman best you in battle!_

When Adahy turned back, he received a knee to the face that shattered his nose as Pocahontas kicked him off of Rolfe. She grabbed John by the bicep and dragged him away from the pirate, though the Englishman yelped as his pants started to descend down his pelvis slightly. He grabbed them and pulled them up as he rose to his feet, gasping. There was sand in his knickers, but he figured he would have to deal with that problem later.

Pocahontas hooked her bloodied machete back onto her own belt and immediately turned Rolfe towards her to examine him. "Are you alright? Are you injured?" she cried, wiping the pirate's blood off of his face to see if he had any wounds of his own.

Before he could even answer, she grabbed his wrist and the tortoise shell and dragged him over to the water's edge. She filled the shell bowl with water and offered it to him. "Quick, wash your face. Did he cut you with his weapon?"

"I, um…" He seemed completely discombobulated. Pocahontas lowered her brows, and splashed some of the water on his face to snap him out of it. He blinked. "Pocahontas, what on earth was that thing? It was glowing!" he suddenly cried, nearly letting go of his pants. He yelped as they almost fell down, and grabbed them again.

Pocahontas put the bowl down and went over to the unconscious pirate, stealing the belt around Adahy's waist. She handed it to Rolfe. Though he felt his face flush, he quickly accepted the pilfered gift. "Th… thanks…" he bashfully murmured, removing his own ruined belt and replacing it with the intact one.

"Wash your face and I'll tell you what that thing was," Pocahontas abruptly demanded, offering him the shell full of water again. She waited until he started splashing the water on his face to repeat her previous question, "Did he cut you with the blade?"

"I don't know. He touched my neck with it. It burned like hellfire," Rolfe replied, placing a hand on his throat as the water rinsed the blood down his face in dark red rivulets. "What was it? That can't be natural!" he added, splashing more water on his face and wiping it away.

Pocahontas bit her lip, trying to think of how to explain it in his terms. His people did have a concept of supernatural evil, she knew. When one of the hateful men in Jamestown called her a heathen on one occasion, he had also shouted at her that she would 'burn in Hell' for her beliefs. She had come to discover what Hell was later when she asked a kind elderly white woman.

Suddenly Pocahontas gasped and dropped the shell full of water to the sand. "Meeko, no! Don't touch it!" she cried. She bolted over to the raccoon as he curiously examined the now-impotent blackstone dagger and used her thick boot to kick the evil item far away into the lake, where it immediately sank to the bottom. Meeko cried out in surprise and ran over to Percy, hiding behind the small canine. Flit started squeaking angrily at Meeko, chiding him for his dangerous sense of curiosity.

Rolfe ran over and stared into the lake where the dagger had disappeared, then turned his wide-eyed gaze back to Pocahontas. "What was that, Pocahontas? What do you know that you're not telling me?" he demanded.

Pocahontas looked at him, hesitating. "Have you ever met a demon before?" she slowly inquired. Rolfe raised a brow, and then shook his head. "If you value your soul, pray you never do again. Kekata back in my village can explain better," she finished, turning back and strutting down the beach to where she had dropped the tortoise shell.

Hearing this, Rolfe gasped and stared back out at the lake in horror. He immediately made the sign of the cross over his chest as Pocahontas picked up the shell and went back over to him, examining his neck. "Where did it touch you?" she asked. He pointed to the spot over his jugular. Looking closely, she observed that the skin was intact.

She breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank goodness. It did not break the skin. You will be alright. Now, let's get out of here. I can hear the dogs getting closer," she said, just as a howl sounded in the distance. One of the hounds had just picked up their scent, and both of them gritted their teeth in apprehension.

Rolfe ran over to gather their belongings and stuff everything in the supply pack. He stepped deftly over the body of the pirate. It was unclear if the man was alive or dead, and the Englishman was afraid to find out. A minute later, Pocahontas and Rolfe were jogging north again.

After they ran through the brush at the mouth of the river, they discovered where the pirate had dropped his own supply pack. Rolfe immediately rummaged through it to find more food supplies. To his delight, there was also a loaded pistol, and a rifle lying in the sand nearby. He took the pistol and left the rifle, which would be too heavy for long-distance travel.

"Good, this food will last us a few days," Pocahontas said. "We'll save time if we don't have to stop to hunt." She glanced around to see if there was anything else the pirate had dropped. She slung the second supply pack over her own shoulder and glanced at Rolfe. "Here," she said. She put the tortoise shell on his head like an oversized helmet. It effectively shaded his visage from the harsh Florida sun. "Your face was turning pink again," she explained, turning back north to continue their trek.

"Pocahontas! This looks silly!" Rolfe protested, imagining how ridiculous he must look with a tortoise shell on his head. He did not think such a thing would ever be considered fashionable by London standards.

"Not as silly as a white man with a red face," she countered, earning a pouting look from him. She ignored his childishness and kept moving, forcing him to sprint to catch up with her. Meeko, Percy, and Flit followed suit, and soon they were all travelling back up the river from whence they had come.


	6. Baptism by Fire

**The Adventures of Pocahontas and John Rolfe**

Chapter 6: Baptism by Fire

Spike-Eyes was about to beat one of the French hounds for chasing after a squirrel when one of his accomplices called out to him from the beach by the lake, "I've found something!"

Spike-Eyes whistled to the third in their group and then went over to where Demented Jake was standing over something in the sand, scrutinizing the find closely. One of the dogs was busily sniffing at the sand beside him.

When Spike-Eyes came close enough, he identified the discovery as a faded boot print. "You think it's one of theirs?" he inquired as Manslaughter Sol trotted over to their location, followed by the other two hounds.

"Françoise seems to think so," Demented Jake replied, patting the female canine on her side. The most talented sniffer, Françoise had rapidly become the hunting party's favorite and got the most treats and strokes for her efforts.

"Muzzle the dogs," Spike-Eyes commanded. "If we've got tracks to follow, we don't need the hounds unless the footprints disappear. The mutts will only bark and warn them of our approach. If we can hunt them silent-like, they will slow their pace. We'll have a chance to catch up to 'em quicker."

Demented Jake rose to his feet and spat in the sand. "Will that really be necessary? I thought we were just herding them north so the Injun tracker could intercept them," he plainly stated. "Plus, they'll run out of food soon, if they had any to begin with. Where could they possibly go? There's nothin' but hostile Injun territory north of here."

"Aye, but we need a back up plan in case Adahy should fail. Flame and Bleud would expect no less of us," Spike-Eyes replied as Manslaughter approached. Demented Jake sneered and spat on the beach again. Like most of the crew, he preferred plundering for riches over chasing two hapless souls who posed no threat to them through the wilderness. However, Bleud had promised them the most buxom French wench when they returned, so he dutifully held his tongue.

"Are we going to start following these tracks now, or wait for the other two parties to catch up to us?" Manslaughter suddenly inquired as he discovered more prints further down the beach. There were definitely two distinct human individuals that had been here, though the scent trail was almost cold by now. Only Françoise had been able to detect it, as she had the best nose of the litter.

"Leave a sign so's they'll know which direction we went, but we wait for no man. We best not let our quarry get any further ahead of us than they already are," Spike-Eyes replied. Manslaughter nodded and used the tip of his boot to dig a big arrow in the sand pointing straight north.

The pirating trio muzzled the dogs and began to follow the tracks. The footprints led them on for hours, as their quarry had clearly been keeping to the lakeshore to avoid the dense forests and mangroves that were more difficult to navigate through.

It was not until the sun retreated behind the western forest canopy that they spotted something far down the beach. Spike-Eyes could not quite tell what it was from the distance, but it almost appeared to be a human form asleep in the sand. "We've spotted 'em! Charge, men! Don't let 'em get away!" he cried, whipping out his sword from the hilt.

His accomplices did the same and bolted through the soft white sand. Due to a curve in the edge of the lake, they had to run behind a large patch of cattails and aquatic grasses to get to their destination. Demented Jake ran faster than the others due to his nimble size, and burst through the brush first. He immediately dropped his sword and gaped in surprise.

Spike-Eyes and Manslaughter emerged behind him, also staring in shock. Adahy was lying on his side in the sand. His clothes were caked in brown dried blood. As his body was facing away from them, they could not readily identify the injury responsible at first. Spike-Eyes was the first to jog over and kneel at the man's side.

Suddenly Demented Jake gasped and pointed at something lying in the sand by the water's edge. It appeared to be a severed human hand. "Rolfe has cut off his other hand!" he cried.

Spike-Eyes rose back up to his feet. There was a prolonged silence after the startling announcement as the three men stared at each other in bewilderment. Then, all of a sudden, the trio burst out laughing in unison.

They guffawed and carried on until their sides were sore and Demented Jake was literally rolling around in the sand. "Like I always says," Manslaughter chortled. "Never send an Injun to do a real man's job! Aye, men?" The others continued chuckling, nodding in agreement.

"Well, at least we knows for sure that Rolfe's still got his sword on him. I'm almost looking forward to crossing blades with the old dog now. Haven't had a good challenge in months, matter of fact. The sailors on the supply ship were downright pitiful!" Spike-Eyes declared.

"Aye! Save some of 'im for us though, mate," Manslaughter replied, picking up the severed hand and waving it around in the air. He chuckled. "Shall we keep this as a souvenir?" he wickedly suggested.

Spike-Eyes was about to reply when suddenly they heard a groan. All three glanced back at what they believed was nothing more than a lifeless human corpse. Adahy was pale as death, but he moved a handless forearm ever so slightly as his brain went in and out of consciousness. He murmured something in his native language, Copichican, and the pirates looked at each other in confusion.

"Well, he's not dead yet apparently, but he's close to it," Manslaughter stated, walking over to the body. He used his foot to roll Adahy over onto his back as the man's eyes fluttered. "Hey, Injun! You want us to put ye out of your misery? Technically, you don't deserve it for losing to a fop, but I'm in a generous mood for once," he offered, grinning down at Adahy with a gold-toothed smile.

"_Get… the blade,"_ Adahy murmured in a barely audible voice. _"He calls to me from the water. Bring him to me, I will reward…"_ He passed out again before he could finish. Suddenly one of the French hounds whined loudly through its muzzle and dashed away from Spike-Eyes, who in his distraction only had a loose grasp on the animal's leash.

"Bloody mongrel!" Spike-Eyes howled, running after the fleeing dog as it plunged headfirst into the lake. The pirate stopped at the edge, not wanting to get wet, and pulled out his pistol. "I've had it with that damned mutt!"

"Don't waste your bullets on the beast," Manslaughter told him. "A better fate to let a disobedient hound starve to death than to kill it quickly with a pistol. Besides, Françoise is the only one we really need."

Spike-Eyes clenched his teeth, but saw reason in his accomplice's argument, and put away his gun as the animal swam further out into the lake. He turned away from the water and approached the others. "Come on, let's not give the fugitives any more of a head start than they've already got," he finally said, placing his sword back in its sheath. He glanced north and observed the lake ended at the mouth of a wide river.

"What about the Injun?" Demented Jake inquired, nudging the limp man with the tip of his boot.

Spike-Eyes glanced back at him. "Leave him. He's useless to us, and he'll only slow us down," he said, walking over to the edge of the forest. He broke a thick limb off of a tree, cut it down to size with his sword, and wrapped the end in linen. "Make yourselves torches, men. It'll be getting dark soon," he told them.

When they were all ready again, they continued north along the tracks left by the escapees. Devil willing, they would gladly forgo sleep to catch up with the two runaways.

…

"The Captain is dead!" cried the perturbed voice of Leonard Legless. He had just emerged from the Captain's quarters aboard the Blood Draw and his announcement promptly got the attention of the entire crew. With all the French fugitives tracked down and butchered, the rest of the men had at last returned to the decimated port.

As it was just past dark, the Captain had been dining alone in his cabin. Legless had gone to deliver him rum, but had instead found Bleud on the dusty carpet of his quarters. The man's grayish brown eyes were wide open and bloodshot as if he had glimpsed the Devil himself just before he took his final breath.

Voices of panic and curiosity echoed through the crowd until Flame swung over to the Draw from his own vessel. "Dead, you say?" he decried from the portside railing. He whipped out his blade and pointed it at the crew, panning between one pirate and the next. "This development reeks of mutiny, I say. Who be the scurvy dog that would dare betray our beloved leader, eh? Come forward, ye miserable slimy coward, so as I can gut you meself!"

Flame wore a demeanor of feigned ferocity as he regarded the terrified men. He had to ensure that no one would have the gall to cross blades with him, and he was pleased with the results of the test.

"Cap'n Flame!" Legless cried. "Bleud was dining alone in his quarters, sir. How can we be sure this was a willful slaying on the part of a member of the crew?"

Flame ran a hand through his short red beard as he pretended to consider his First Mate's words. "Alone, you say? Perhaps the good Captain fell to sudden illness. Let me examine the body," he proclaimed, nimbly hopping down onto the deck. He put away his sword as the men backed away, making a wide path for him through the crowd.

Flame climbed the stairs to the upper deck and Legless held open the door to the filthy but lush quarters that had once belonged to Bleud. Flame strutted straight back to the dining room, and indeed the old Captain was sprawled across the carpeted floor, one foot propped up on the stool from which he had fallen as the silent poison took hold.

Legless walked up behind Flame, holding his wide-brimmed hat to his chest in a gesture of respect for the dead. Flame ground his teeth at the action, but said nothing. Kneeling down, the disfigured Irishman checked Bleud's pulse first, and then swept his hand over the man's face to close his bloodshot eyes. "Aye, he's gone. No sign of a wound. Must have been an illness. Best to get rid of the body in case it's infectious," he said, rising to his feet.

Flame saw Legless's throat tighten as he swallowed in apprehension. "The spirits… it must be the spirits," he murmured.

Flame raised an eyebrow. Though he had never believed any such horse dribble, he had often used a feigned superstitious nature to his advantage. "Aye, it must be…" he replied, appearing taken aback at the revelation.

"They're angry we've foregone our mission against the Spanish, Captain! They'll kill more of us if we don't head south!" Legless proclaimed.

Flame's eyes widened momentarily. This was not going how he had planned. "Nay, methinks another explanation is in order," he began, thinking quick on his feet. He instantly had Legless's full attention, so he started to pace the room as he speculated over the possibilities. "I found a document of interest on the supply ship just before ye called, mate. It identifies Rolfe as a Spaniard in disguise. The man was a spy against England, and he got found out. He must have failed to mention this because he did not want us to know he would not fight against his Spanish brethren. He likely would have sabotaged our ambush! His heritage was the real reason for his death sentence, not treachery!"

Legless blinked in surprise as he listened to the Irishman reveal the surprising information. "That is startling news, Captain. But how does it explain Bleud's untimely death?" he inquired.

Flame abruptly turned to him. "Isn't it obvious, fool? The Aztec spirits want us to hunt Spaniards. Rolfe is a Spaniard! They want us on his trail, not making merry with wenches and rum like Bleud here was so apt to do. He was punished for his frivolity. If we don't catch the fugitive, we'll be punished as well!"

Legless gasped. "Egads! We've got to tell the crew, sir!" he cried.

"I am the ship's commander now, Legless. Don't ye worry! I will keep the men safe from the wrath of spirits. Just make sure the men swear fealty to me, and you'll have nothing to worry yourself over. Now, we best get rid of the body. Bring in a few men to carry the corpse away, mate," Flame fiendishly replied.

Legless nodded and disappeared from the room. Flame took the opportunity to snatch up all the pastries and the half-eaten croissant on the dining table, tossing them out the open-hatch window. So long as no one else ate them and keeled over, there would be little reason for suspicion against him. Now all he had to do was forge a false document identifying John Rolfe as a Spanish spy, and all would go according to his design. He left the Captain's quarters and returned to his own vessel to do just that.

…

Pocahontas swayed in exhaustion as they reached the leg of the river where they had begun their journey. The water flowed a bit faster here, as the river was relatively narrow compared to miles downstream. They were finally back to their starting point, yet they had to still had infinitely further to go until they reached home.

Dark had fallen hours ago and it had officially been over twenty-four hours since they had last slept. The unexpected silence of the hunting parties trouble Rolfe—as the dogs were no longer barking. That did not sit well with him, so he pushed the group onward despite their immense fatigue.

As they trudged along, Rolfe offered Pocahontas another piece of coconut to help keep her energy up but she turned it down. "No food. I need rest," she pleaded. Every bone in her body felt like it was bearing a crushing weight. They had not sat down or even stopped hiking since she had saved John from the pirate Adahy that morning.

Rolfe put the food away and offered a hand instead. "Give me your pack. I'll carry everything to make things easier on you," he replied.

Pocahontas sighed in aggravation. "The dogs aren't even barking anymore. Maybe they've given up and headed back south? I don't see why we can't rest for a bit," she said, finally coming to a stop. She lowered herself to her knees in the sand, dropping the pilfered green pack to the ground beside her.

Rolfe frowned, but realized she was right. The only member of the group that was not utterly exhausted was Flit, as the hummingbird had made a nest on Pocahontas's head hours ago and had been fast asleep since. When Pocahontas stopped walking, Flit roused and looked up.

Rolfe glanced down at the small bird. "Hey, Flit. We desperately need to rest, but we're not sure if we're still being followed. Can you keep watch and scout the area while we sleep? Wake us up if our pursuers begin catching up to us, alright?" he said, taking off his own satchel.

Flit yawned and nodded, zipping up from his spot on top of Pocahontas's head. He sped off into the forest intent on checking the area in concentric circles around his four companions until he was sure they were all alone. "Alright," Rolfe continued, dropping his own satchel to the ground. He plopped down into the sand and stretched out, heaving a huge sigh of relief. "Oh God, yes. You were right, Pocahontas. This feels amazing," he murmured, letting his tired bones sink into the supportive sand. His eyes fluttered as he scooted his satchel under his head. "I never thought just lying down could feel this good," he murmured in a sleepy voice, yawning deeply.

Pocahontas stretched out perpendicular to him, same as before, and laid her head on his belly. She yawned as well. "I know… it's amazing," she whispered in reply. She really could not believe how exhausted she was. This moment did not even compare to after the first night with the pirates, although she suspected it was likely a different story for Rolfe. Percy stretched his back and collapsed by Pocahontas's abdomen, whereas Meeko curled up on Rolfe's chest for warmth.

The trickling of the river water lulled Pocahontas, Rolfe, Meeko, and Percy to sleep as the stars twinkled overhead. Huddling combined with the warm humid weather allowed the four of them to stay relatively comfortable despite the lack of direct sunlight, as they had had before. Despite their aching bones and muscles, they slept peacefully.

…

When the dogs collapsed, the hunting party was forced to stop for a rest as well. Manslaughter removed their muzzles and fed them before putting the muzzles back on. "No more than a few hours rest, men. It'll be daylight in short order. We're the only ones who can bring in the fugitives now. Flame and Bleud will have to rely on us," Spike-Eyes plainly stated as Manslaughter dropped to the sand.

Manslaughter Sol slapped something on his knee. "Damn mosquitos," he murmured. Spike-Eyes licked his forefinger and raised it up in the air to test the direction of the wind. It was a mild breeze, but it appeared to be flowing north now. Unfortunately, that gave the escapees somewhat of an advantage, as the dog with them could possibly detect their scent if they got close.

Demented Jake stretched his back and pointed to the woods. "Be right back, men. I've got to drain the dragon, as it were," he said, plodding off into the woods with his torch to light the way. He stumbled over logs and fallen debris until he was out of sight of the others, and then jabbed the handle of his torch into a crotch between two branches of a live oak tree. As he was fiddling with the belt of his trousers, his foot got caught on a thorny vine and he stumbled backwards. The top of his head knocked the torch out of the tree crotch and the flaming stick fell to the forest floor.

Jake gasped and quickly grabbed it up, but the flame had already spread to a dried leaf. He made to stomp it out, only to discover that his foot was still caught by the thorny vine, causing him to tumble over. The force of his fall blew the flaming leaf a few feet away, out of reach. He gasped and tore his boot away from the thorns, running over to stomp out the burning leaf. However, as he was gathering his wits a dancing light grew behind him, illuminating his figure against the dark trees.

His eyes widened as he spun around. In his pursuit of the burning leaf, he had left the torch itself in a pile of bone-dry forest debris. It was not just a small flame this time—it was small fire that was rapidly growing into a massive bonfire. Jake nearly urinated on himself as he took to a sprint, stumbling over fallen logs to get back to the campsite by the river. "Fire!" he cried in alarm as he stumbled out of the woods.

Manslaughter and Spike-Eyes sprung to their feet in alarm. "You blundering idiot! You dropped your torch, didn't ye?" the latter accused as the forest lit up the night. Spike-Eyes grabbed a hold of Jake's neck and began to throttle him as the fire grew and grew in the woods behind them.

"Quick, we've got to swim to the other side of the river!" Manslaughter proclaimed, ignoring the fighting between his brethren. He took the dogs by their leashes and skipped down the riverbank with the whining, sleep-deprived animals in pursuit.

"Ye ought to be burned alive for what you've done, bloody numskull!" Spike-Eyes spat. He whipped out his sword and threw the slighter Jake against a tree, impaling him into the wood with the blade through the shoulder. Demented Jake screamed in agony as the sword pierced his flesh. His attacker ignored his pleas and turned tail, following Manslaughter into the river.

A strong wind began to blow as the fire crested the canopy, whisking the hot flames north at a rapid pace. Demented Jake could already feel the immense heat from the fire against his sides. His survival instinct numbed the pain from the blade and he grabbed a hold of an overhead limb with one hand. He hung onto the flat of the sword with his other hand. He did a midair crunch, lifting both feet off the ground and resting the soles on the cross-guards of the blade. Taking a deep breath, he pushed with all his might and screamed in agony as the force began to tear the blade free from his flesh.

As Spike-Eyes was about three times Jake's size, the strong man had been able to embed the blade quite deeply into the trunk of the tree. It took all of Demented Jake's remaining strength to kick it out, and he fell bleeding to the ground in exhaustion. There was little time to rest, as he felt a flame lick at his heels moments later. He crawled down the riverbank with his good arm.

Spike-Eyes and Manslaughter had made it to the other side and were no longer in sight, so Jake simply rolled into the shallow water and kept his head low to keep his lungs clear of smoke. He waded further out to avoid falling limbs, finding that the cool water somewhat soothed his should wound.

…

With the crew under Flame's full command, the men had moved all supplies from the supply ship over to the Blood Draw. There simply were not enough men to pilot both ships, so they burned the stolen vessel and sailed north out of the bay. Legless was pleased to report that the winds had become favorable in that direction, and they were able to move quickly along the dark coast.

Captain Finley Flame stood at the helm as the ship sailed swiftly through the dark Floridian waters. He fiendishly leaned forward and put a hand to his deformed ear, eavesdropping on a whispered conversation between two men on the deck below.

"_They're saying that Rolfe was actually a Spaniard. It must be the real reason King James sentenced him to death. If the rumors about Bleud's death are to be believed, then we best catch the tart lest the accursed dead send plague over the whole ship,"_ a one-eyed man said.

His stocky companion nodded. _"I heard Rolfe's real name is Juan Santino,"_ he added.

"No, you daft fool!" the other man snapped back. _"It's Juan Ignacio. I just heard it meself from First Mate Legless. He says the Cap'n's found a document identifying Ignacio as a spy for Spain."_

"_Aye, but that begets the question—what was the real nature of the man's relationship to the Injun wench? Maybe the girl was in on some plot against the English throne! If they were a threat to her tribe, it makes right good sense. Either that, or those two were just lovers. You'd think with the way he rescued her, that would be the case,"_ replied the stockier pirate.

Flame's lips curled into a grin as the men continued to spread the false rumors amongst themselves that he himself had created. He so loved superstition and gossip when they could be used in his favor. However, the one-eyed man's next comment troubled the Captain slightly.

"_I don't know, mate. There's something fishy about all of this. Why would the Injun ghosties want us to chase after a single Spaniard when we could be robbing and killing hundreds of the Catholic nut jobs?"_ he inquired, lowering his voice even more.

"_Aye,"_ replied the stocky one. _"Methinks there's more to this Juan fellow than we realize if the spirits want him dead above all others. Perhaps James wanted it kept a secret… but why? What's the King hiding?"_

The one-eyed man shrugged. _"Perhaps if we find Ignacio we can torture the truth out of the old Spanish dog. Hell, maybe we'll even find the key to bringing down the whole Spanish empire—just consider the possibilities, mate! Think of all the gold stored in the palace! We'd be rich beyond our wildest dreams…"_

Flame began to relax again when it appeared the men held no suspicion towards him. Everything was working out remarkably as planned. The only thing that bugged Flame now was the way the Bosun kept glancing at him from time to time. He needed to remember how sharp the swarthy man was, and to keep an eye on him lest he manage to put the pieces of the puzzle together.

Captain Flame drove the crew onwards for hours until an unusual light appeared on the distant horizon. Flame was the first to spot it, and he whipped out his pocket telescope to get a better view.

The Irishman whistled loudly over the rushing winds to get his First Mate's attention. Legless came over and the Captain handed him the telescope, pointing north. "What make you of that? It appears the forest itself is alight," he said.

Legless raised an eyebrow as he peered through the lens. "Aye, a forest fire it is indeed. But how could it have started? The sky is clear, with no signs of lightning to be seen in any direction," he said, lowering the telescope with a look of perturbation on his face.

"No clue, mate," Flame replied. "But perhaps we'll get lucky and the flames will flush out our quarry. The ship is moving fast. We're sure to catch up to their location in short order." He took the telescope back from his companion and glanced through the lens again as the ship drew closer. It could be seen with the naked eye now, as some of the crew were pointing northward as they chattered together in curiosity.

"Aye, but what about the hunting parties? They could be incinerated by the inferno!" Legless exclaimed.

"And yer point is? If those fools are worthy of the crew, then they'll find a way to get themselves to safety. Besides, if they die, I don't have to keep Bleud's promise to them. We can keep that gorgeous French girl all to ourselves," he replied, collapsing the telescope and dropping it back into his pocket.

"True, but this could throw a wrench in our plans to track the fugitives. Without the hounds, it'll be a lot harder to find them, if they survive the fire," Legless pointed out. "Plus, Adahy could be killed. He's our best tracker."

"An Injun would know what to do when a forest fire strikes. The louts all lived in a forest, after all. As for the rest, we'll have to wish them luck. There's nothing we can do about it from here, so no use bellyachin' over the matter. We need to keep heading north and pray to the Aztec spirits we catch up to the fugitives," Flame stated, putting an end to the discussion. He waved Legless off and turned the ship slightly eastward to keep the vessel out of the line of smoke, as the ash would surely blind the crew if the winds changed slightly.

…

John Rolfe awoke to the feeling of something tapping against his temple. He sat up slowly, totally disoriented, and rubbed his eyes to clear his sleep-blurred vision. _"What's happened? What's going on?"_ he slurred as he came to. Flit chirped loudly and turned his attention to Pocahontas. Her head had fallen into Rolfe's lap when the Englishman had sat up.

As the frantic hummingbird began throwing his tiny body against Pocahontas's cheek in an attempt to wake her, Rolfe noted that it was still dark out. He realized they could not have been asleep for more than a few hours at most. Dread immediately struck his heart and he jumped up to his feet as Pocahontas roused from Flit's harassment, rubbing her face as she sat up.

There was an orange light on the southern horizon. Rolfe knew immediately that it could not be the dawn—it was approaching much too quickly. "Pocahontas! The forest is on fire!" he cried. A herd of deer from downriver charged out of the brush, heading in their direction. On the western riverbank, a big brown bear ran as fast as its four legs could carry it, followed closely by three bear cubs. Bats and birds darted overhead. All the animals in the forest were fleeing the flames, heading north as fast as their claws, hooves, and wings could carry them.

Meeko climbed up to Rolfe's shoulder as he grabbed a hold of Pocahontas. The Englishman dragged her into the river just before the deer stampede could trample her into the sand. Percy cried out, unable to get out of the path of the deer. He danced around clumsily, only barely managing to avoid sharp hooves as they ran over him at high speed. The entire forest was in an uproar, as the strong wind blew the flames speedily in their direction.

Some ways down the river, Rolfe watched in horror as a flaming tree crashed down across the narrow waterway, effectively spreading the fire to the forest west of the river as well.

Pocahontas coughed and sputtered as a sudden blast of wind filled her lungs with smoke from the blazing inferno. It passed quickly, and she struggled to stand in the rushing water. Looking up, she swiftly processed the dire situation that had arisen while they were sleeping.

"We'll have to hide in the water! It's our only chance!" Rolfe cried, dragging her deeper into the middle of the narrow river. They were forced to hold onto a protruding rock to avoid being carried away by the current.

Pocahontas glanced downstream and saw steam arising from the river there, mixing with the smoke from the fire. "John, no! The river is not wide or deep enough to protect us. Trees will come crashing down on us! The water could even boil if the fire is hot enough. We are not safe here. I've lived in forests all my life, I would know," she told him.

Rolfe was about to reply when they both spotted Flit on the bank squeaking in a frenzy and zipping around, pointing into the dense forest. "Come on," Pocahontas said to Rolfe, grabbing his hand. "He must have found a way to safety. If we hurry, we can get there before the fire hits."

"We'll be incinerated!" Rolfe cried as she pulled him back to the eastern riverbank once the last of the deer herd had passed. "Please, Pocahontas, no! The forest is too dense. You might make it out alive, but I'll never keep up with you!" He was sweating heavily with fear, even though the flames had yet to reach them.

The thought of being burned alive was even more terrifying than death from a fall, and he felt his knees trembling at the prospect of trying to stumble through a burning forest. He would much rather take his chances submerged in the river. "Follow Flit and escape," he told her. "Here, take our supplies. Hurry!" He gave her both survival packs and put the turtle shell on her head, pushing her towards the edge of the woods.

Pocahontas immediately turned back to Rolfe with a furious look on her face. She grabbed him by the front of his shirt and jerked him toward her until their noses were practically touching. "You need to trust me! I'm not leaving you behind! We live together, or die together!" she shouted at the top of her voice over the approaching roar. She could tell John was fearful with the sweat pouring down his visage, but they could not let fear stop them from living to see the sunrise.

Rolfe hesitantly nodded and Pocahontas shoved his own satchel back into his hands. He speedily slung it over his shoulder as Pocahontas made a beeline for the dark woods, following her animal friends as they fled as fast as their four legs could carry them. Rolfe followed swiftly, hopping over a log between two close-knit trees.

The darkness did not last long as the inferno drew near, lighting up the woods brighter than a thousand bonfires. The trees, branches, dead logs, and dried debris burst into flames faster than Rolfe move through the challenging landscape. Pocahontas was forced to slow her pace to help him over a variety of obstacles. Cuts and scratches from thorns marred their faces and bodies as they pushed through a thick line of bushes, but adrenaline numbed them to the pain.

The wind howled furiously above the forest canopy. Whipping the high leaves and branches into a frenzy, the gale brought the hellish inferno ever closer. Flit buzzed around them and squeaked frantically in an attempt to hurry them along.

At last, the fire was upon them and they had to hop around in the brush as they ran just to prevent the flames from licking the skin from their legs. With hot feet, they thankfully reached a small clearing in the flaming forest. Rolfe coughed and wheezed from the smoke as he caught up with Pocahontas, noting that she had dropped the turtle shell at some point during their flight. He no longer cared, as the situation had just worsened considerably. Pocahontas forced his head down to keep him from breathing in the smoke as she kicked the sparser burning debris aside, making a path for them.

The intense heat grew as they ran and Rolfe over a protruding tree root, causing Pocahontas to skid to a stop. She looked back at him in horror when she heard a crack from high up in the trees. The massive limb of a giant pine tree broke off and plummeted to earth. Pocahontas screamed and raced back as fast as her feet could carry her, knocking John out of the way of the limb with the full force of her body.

Rolfe rolled out of harm's way as the branch landed and Pocahontas howled in pain. "Pocahontas, no!" he cried, scrambling back to his feet. Her left heel was trapped beneath the heavy, partly burning tree limb. Flit squeaked in terror as the fire surrounded them. More branches overhead cracked as burning leaves and twigs fell all around them. Rolfe coughed and crawled over to his beloved, trying in vain to pull her away from the fallen branch. He stopped when she screamed in pain.

Pocahontas coughed and hacked, her body going limp as her consciousness faded. Rolfe knew the massive flaming branch would be near impossible to lift, but he had to try. He would have to use leverage to his advantage, so he rapidly analyzed the length of the limb. About ten feet down from Pocahontas, he found an area where the wood was high enough above the ground that he could scoot his body beneath it. He crawled over and lay down. With his back to the dirt, he heaved and pushed upwards against the log with all his might. Flit watched as the Englishman's face turned from white, to pink, to red, to purple and a series of veins swelled his forehead from the immense effort.

It took all the strength Rolfe had left in his body to lift the branch even an inch, but it was enough. "Move your leg, Pocahontas!" he called to her through clenched teeth. To his horror, he glanced over to find that she was out cold. "Pocahontas, no!" he cried.

Just then, Meeko and Percy reappeared in the clearing having realized the humans had fallen behind. Unable to speak as his strength began to give out, Rolfe pointed to Pocahontas with his free hands and then he pointed to his own leg, and mimed a pulling action.

The two larger animals rushed over the moment they understood. Percy grabbed at Pocahontas's pants with his teeth and Meeko used his claws. It took all of their combined strength, but they managed to jerk Pocahontas's boot out from under the tree limb just as Rolfe's strength gave out completely. The Englishman screamed in anguish, as he feared the limb would crush Pocahontas's leg, but he quickly discovered to his great relief that the animals had succeeded in pulling her away.

Pocahontas lay unconscious in the dirt as flaming leaves fluttered around her body. Thanks to the water from the river, her wet clothes did not catch fire readily. However, the heat from the fire was rapidly drying them out.

Rolfe yelped and pulled back as flames engulfed the part of the limb he had been pushing against with his feet. He closed his eyes momentarily and muttered a desperate prayer to God to temporarily restore his strength so he could rescue Pocahontas from the inferno.

Heaving with the effort, he pulled himself back to his feet when he had thought he could not possibly do so. He stumbled over to Pocahontas and struggled to lift her over his shoulder. Meeko and Percy helped him get her up and he looked around through weary eyes, searching for an escape route that was not blocked by a wall of flames.

Flit squeaked at him and zipped northward, following the clearing. Rolfe, Meeko, and Percy trudged in the hummingbird's direction. John felt like his skin was about to catch fire until he finally caught sight of a route to the beach just up ahead. He had to sear his boots on a burning log to get there, but at last he reached the end of the flaming woodland.

Though he was still coughing madly, a cool breeze from the ocean brought him a much-needed breath of fresh air. In his exhaustion, he collapsed the moment he made it to the sand. With Pocahontas draped across his back, he crawled away from the flames and down the gently sloping beach until he reached cool, moist sand a few meters up from the surf.

Meeko, Flit, and Percy looked at them in concern as Rolfe gently laid Pocahontas out on her back. Rolfe feared the worst, as she did not appear to be breathing. He pinched her nose shut and clamped his lips over her mouth. Her chest inflated as he pumped clean air into her lungs.

A tremor ran through her body as she rolled onto her side, heaving and wheezing terribly to clear her blackened lungs. She was alive, and Percy immediately rejoiced. Meeko and Flit were shocked at first, as it appeared that Rolfe had literally brought the woman back to life. However, they quickly gave into the impulse to celebrate as Percy danced around in glee.

Rolfe collapsed to the sand in front of Pocahontas, pulling her head to his chest as she slowly regained consciousness. Nothing needed to be said between them. They had, in a spiritual sense, been reborn that very night. Like certain creatures of myth, they had risen from the flames changed profoundly and irreversibly for the experience.

Their wakefulness did not last, as they felt their eyes fluttering from exhaustion. As the high tide moved out, the sound of the gentle waves put them both to sleep in each other's arms. It was not long before Meeko, Percy, and Flit joined them, huddling together in the soft beach sand.


	7. Swamp Blues

**The Adventures of Pocahontas and John Rolfe**

Chapter 7: Swamp Blues

Adahy watched as the muzzled animal swam around the lake in concentric circles. Now that his pirate brethren had left him for dead, he was severely parched from the heat. Even crawling over to the water's edge for a drink seemed like an insurmountable task. His only hope was to use the ancient art of _nepi peneta_ to reach out to the hound with his mind. He had not practiced in years, but now he had no choice but to try it once more. Blood loss had severely drained his physical and mental energies, but it was a warrior's most sacred duty to persevere through such odds.

Adahy saw promise in the canine's equally dire situation. The creature would surely starve to death with the muzzle bounding its jaws shut. The dying man could use the blackstone dagger to easily cut the binding material away. He would not even need to use his hands—he could hold the blade with his feet if necessary. The spirit had the power to slice through thick materials with very little pressure applied by the wielder. It had aided him many times before in past escapes.

The earlier disaster had left the spirit drained though. Adahy could not even hear its voice in the shallow depths of the lake. The dog was their only hope to be reunited. Adahy closed his eyes and uttered a chant below his breath. With his body so numb from blood loss, he found it surprisingly easy to stretch his spirit out from the confines of its physical form. _Nepi peneta_ was a dangerous practice. If the mind was not robust, the spirit could lose its grip on the tether between itself and the fresh. Then the body would die without a mind to feed it, and the spirit would be lost to wander the earth for eternity.

Adahy kept a tight hold on his body as he reached out toward the wading animal. He did not think he would make it at first, but then the hound paddled back in his direction. The spirit of the dagger had to be trying to contact the beast as well—otherwise, the dog would have made for land hours ago. Something was drawing the animal in, keeping its attention fixated in the lake.

The dog swam closer and at last Adahy was able to touch it. He spoke directly into its animal mind the type of sweet promises that would most appeal to its kind—a master and a meal. Dogs were such loyal creatures, and the copper-skinned man had always held the domesticated breeds in a special place in his heart on account of their loving, obedient nature.

Suddenly the dog dove down below the surface and Adahy lost contact with it. He could only pray to the Copichican gods that the French breed was an intelligent one, as the task of retrieving the dagger without use of its jaws would be challenging for any being lacking opposable thumbs. Half a minute later the dog returned to the surface and continued circling again.

Adahy's spirit sighed in aggravation. With very little energy left, he was forced to retreat back into his physical form. When his eyes opened, his vision was brown. He could feel his life-force fading, and he feared the worst for the Copichican afterlife. To be defeated at the hands of a woman was the ultimate shame for a warrior of his breed. He bit his lip in anguish as he wondered how he had fallen so far from his former greatness. Though the legends had been vague, they had always implied that some unimagined horror awaited fallen warriors after death.

Adahy lost track of time as he dwelt in his woe until an unexpected sensation brought him back to consciousness. Something smooth and wet brushed over his face, causing his eyes to snap open. The sopping dog was standing over him, panting and slobbering as best it could through the narrow confines of the muzzle. He glanced to the sand past the animal's feet and spotted the blackstone dagger lying there.

…

Captain Flame stared out at the mass of smog lining the shores in frustration. The skeletal treetops that had once formed a dense canopy were the only things visible over the gray pall. The wind blew the fumes slightly northeast, keeping the shoreline shrouded. The wildfires had died down, but massive clouds of noxious smoke still drifted through broad daylight.

"If the wildfire flushed them out of the forest, we'll not be able to spot them from here. Send someone out in the cockboat to follow us along the shore. We'll keep 'em tethered to the ship. And tell the men on deck to put handkerchiefs on their faces as we cannot avoid the smoke any longer," he told Legless, collapsing his telescope as the ship neared the flowing wall of dense fumes.

Legless hesitated. "Captain… the men are saying there's a good chance the fugitives are dead. If their corpses were incinerated, we're never going to find them. Perhaps it's time to send the signal to the hunting parties and give up the search, eh?" he cautiously suggested, resisting the urge to wring his hands nervously.

Flame turned on his First Mate darkly. "Who precisely be saying such reckless things, mate?" he hissed in warning.

Legless backed up a bit as the Captain's ice-cold eyes bore into him like razor-edged ice crystals. He had to think fast. "You think they're still alive, Captain? How can we be sure?" he added, careful to keep his voice steady. "And even if they are, the dogs might be dead. How could we hope to find them now?"

Flame immediately suspected Legless when the man failed to answer the question. He felt a spike of rage in his chest, but then a sinister idea began to take form in the Irishman's brain before he could unleash it. He turned back to the helm to dissolve the tension between the two of them, cleverly lulling Legless back into a state of false security. "Hm, let me think on this," he told the man in a thoughtful tone. His piqued ears could hear a very minute sigh of relief coming from Legless, and he grinned out of view.

Despite his words Flame's first priority was to ensure that the sentiment really had spread amongst the crew, as Legless would have him believe. The fiery-haired Captain put the man at the helm and quietly sent out a party in one of the cockboats as planned. Then he began stalking quietly around the lower deck to eavesdrop on conversations.

…

Rolfe was the first to awaken when the rising tide lapped lightly at his hand. He sat up and glanced around, unable to determine how long they had been asleep. Though the wildfire had died the decimated forest still smoked heavily, obscuring the sky. The light penetrating the pall suggested full daylight, though the sun's location was indeterminable.

Pocahontas breathed steadily beside him. He could feel her warm breath through the threadbare cloth of his shirt, as her head rested on his chest. When the sea surf nudged him again he finally sat up, placing Pocahontas's head gently on the firm sand so he could get his bearings.

Rolfe gasped when he stretched up, as he could feel a cascade of crackles descend his back just from lifting his arms. The wildfire fiasco had left him infinitely sore. Meeko, Percy, and Flit slowly roused as Rolfe tried to gingerly stretch the stiffness out of his aching body. When he was done, he checked himself over for burns. He checked Pocahontas and the animals over as well. Though they were all covered with ash and soot, he was relieved to find that no one appeared to have any severe or disfiguring injuries. He wished he could say as much for his boot, as the melted heel gave him an uneven walk.

Feeling around, Rolfe realized he still had his survival pack draped over his shoulder. All the supplies he originally brought appeared to be accounted for, but he could not find the turtle shell or Pocahontas's machete. He gasped when he realized the pirate's green pack with the extra food was missing. He still had a bit of cooked turtle meat and coconut in his own pack, as well as a skin of water, but that was all they had now for sustenance. They would have to find more food soon. The ashen forest would yield little, so it was imperative they continue their journey north into fresh terrain at once.

Rolfe's first thought was to return to the river to fill the spare skins. He was busy strategizing their next move when the surf lapping at the melted boot heel grabbed his attention. Meeko cooed up at him in curiosity, whereas Percy began licking the ash and soot out of his fur. Pocahontas groaned softly in her slumber as the saltwater surf tickled her fingertips. Grunting in pain, Rolfe bent over and gingerly picked her up. He carried her a few feet up the beach to escape the rising tide.

"Pocahontas, love?" Rolfe said, gently shaking her in his arms to wake her up. She did not react at first, so he pressed a deep kiss to her lips. Finally her eyelids fluttered lightly as she emerged from her sleep, groaning and rubbing her eyes. Rolfe grinned down at her. "I've got good news and bad news," he told her. "Good news is… we're alive!" he cheerfully announced.

Pocahontas and Rolfe both coughed a bit when a gust of wind blew smoke at them. Most of the smoke rose overhead and funneled downward, drawn there by the coolness of the ocean water. It gave them some breathing space, although the wind could be somewhat erratic now and again. "How long were we asleep?" Pocahontas inquired in a rough voice, draping her arms around Rolfe's neck lazily.

"Not sure. It's hard to tell what time of day it is from all the smoke, but the fire has gone out so I believe it is safe to go back in the forest," he replied, gently lowering her to her feet. When she made to stand at his prompting, she abruptly cried out and fell to her knees. Rolfe instantly panicked. "Oh, no! Your leg, the log must have injured you! How could I forget?" he said, chiding himself as he lifted her back into his arms.

Percy, Meeko, and Flit looked worried as Rolfe placed her on her back on the fine sand. "It's not my leg," Pocahontas replied, squeezing her eyes shut in discomfort. "It's my ankle. It hurts bad." She hissed in pain as she held the injured part up above the sand.

Rolfe gritted his teeth in concern. "Oh, dear. I hope it's not broken. Let's see what the trouble is, shall we?" he suggested, placing a hand under her calf to support it. He gently pushed her pant leg up to reach the top of her boot.

It was to their great fortune that the boots were too large for Pocahontas, as Rolfe was able to slide the footwear off easily without hurting her. Her ankle was swollen and purple all around, and Rolfe gaped when he saw it. "That doesn't look good at all. I can't tell with the swelling if there are any broken bones or not," he said, examining it. "For all I know, it could even be dislocated."

"I think it is just badly twisted," Pocahontas replied. "I have had this kind of injury before, though not as bad. It will need some kind of binding." She looked westward to the blackened forest. "We need to get to fresh forest to find food. I don't suppose you can help me fashion a crutch out of a burned branch, can you? I can't even limp in this condition," she said.

Rolfe gently bound her ankle with some spare linen from his pack. Since she could not wear her own boot, he tossed his ruined one aside and replaced it with hers. The man-sized footwear fit him better anyway, and he needed to have an even walk for long distance travel. Once he was done, he hefted Pocahontas up into his arms. "I don't think that will be necessary, love," he replied. "Plus, it's best if we keep that leg elevated. Now let's go back to the river and fill all the water pouches for the journey."

Pocahontas felt around her body and gasped. "John! The green pack, I think I dropped it! And my machete… where's my machete?" she cried in panic.

"I know, I know," Rolfe replied, sighing. "That's the bad news I was going to tell you. I doubt the pack survived the flames, but the other items might be okay. We just have to search for them. Shouldn't be too hard, as the fire burned up most of the forest debris," he said, hiking up the beach towards the burned woodland.

As the skeletal forest rose up before them through the plumes of obscuring smoke, Rolfe frowned in dismay. He stopped just before entering the woods. "It's a pity," he murmured in a low voice, standing in the ash-laden sand. "There was so much life before, and now it's gone. We best hope the destruction doesn't extend too far or we're in trouble."

Pocahontas noted the saddened tone to his voice. "The forest is not dead, John," she told him. "Forests burn from time to time. Contrary to appearances, most of these trees are still alive. Some plants cannot cast seeds nor exist without fire."

Rolfe raised a brow, and met eyes with her. "Really?" he replied, surprised. He had little idea of how nature worked beyond what he had studied in the Bible and the classroom. Growing up in London his knowledge of forests, and even farm work, was very limited. Any time he had spent in a natural landscape before now had always been very brief.

Pocahontas nodded. "Granted, fires of this caliber are rare. Most fires are much milder. Sometimes I've walked through a burning forest just to watch the land reborn," she explained, reminiscing on the experiences of her childhood. "There is a kind of beauty in destruction," she said, using her gaze to point out a small bud emerging on the trunk of a black tree—likely the very first of its kind.

Rolfe raised both eyebrows as he spotted it, stepping closer. The burned bark had peeled away like a scab from healing flesh as the sprout emerged. "I had no idea," he admitted. Had his arms not been full, he would have been tempted to reach out and touch the tender shoot. "Guess that just goes to show how much I know, doesn't it?" He laughed, shrugging as he stepped over the remains of a log. The forest was mostly silent, but Rolfe did not fail to notice a few small songbirds returning to the woodland. The animals flew just over their heads, keeping below the bulk of the smoke.

Rolfe carried Pocahontas through the clearing with Meeko, Percy, and Flit in pursuit. When he got to the place where Pocahontas's injury had occurred, he recognized the large limb responsible instantly despite its radically altered appearance. The wood had been reduced to a pile of white ash and dust, and the Englishman used his feet to shuffle through the soot.

Meeko started digging through the ash a few feet away as well and abruptly got Rolfe and Pocahontas's attention when he purred up at them. They looked down just as the raccoon dragged Pocahontas's machete from the fire debris. The handle was a bit charred, but the blade itself was intact.

"My machete!" Pocahontas cried happily as her furry friend offered her the item. "Thanks, Meeko!" She refastened the beloved possession to her belt as Rolfe adjusted her position to facilitate the task.

"Well, that's a relief," Rolfe added. "It would have been a pity to permanently lose such a useful tool." Just then, he felt the tip of his boot bump into something. He nudged it out of the ash and recognized it as the dreaded turtle shell. "Oh… so that's where that thing went off to," he murmured. Meeko blew the soot off the shell and into Percy's face. The pug dog sneezed a few times and then yipped at raccoon in irritation.

Rolfe secretly regretted having found the turtle shell, as he feared Pocahontas would make him wear it again as soon as the smoke from the wildfire vanished. He frowned as he noticed the plumes getting thinner and wispier overhead, and frowned even deeper when Percy pulled a scrap of the green pack out of the ash. True to his instincts, the extra supplies had not survived the wildfire.

Pocahontas made no note of the pack's remains as she caught sight of the turtle shell. "Great! Now I still have something to cook in," she said cheerfully, stretching down to take it from Meeko's outstretched paws. She suddenly stopped and hissed in pain, reaching for her injured ankle instead.

"Pocahontas! What's wrong, love?" Rolfe cried. "I didn't bump you into anything, did I?" he inquired frantically, his eyes darting around.

Pocahontas shook her head. "No, I have to remember not to get too excited. I moved it by accident," she replied, calming down as the pain eased. "I'm okay now. It only hurts if I try to rotate the joint."

Pocahontas and Rolfe watched in puzzlement as Meeko put the shell on his own back and crawled around stupidly, pretending to be a tortoise. When Flit started squawking at him in annoyance, Pocahontas's good humor returned as she laughed at their antics. Percy just rolled his eyes and ignored them both. "Right, then," Rolfe abruptly said. "If you like it so much, Meeko, then you can carry it. Now let's head back to the river. I should like to wash this soot from my face and clothes."

…

Far south of where the fire had hit, Demented Jake stumbled through the brush in hope of finding one of the other hunting parties sent from the ship. He had heard a dog-like howl in the distance and thought he knew the general direction they would be in. It appeared that they had kept further inland in case the fugitives tried to hide in the forest.

His shoulder gash had become infected. Since Spike-Eyes had taken all the supplies, he would need to find one of the other parties to get alcohol to disinfect his wound. After recovering his health, his next goal would be to travel north as fast as he could and slaughter his betrayers.

Thinking he heard a distant shout, he hiked for miles until he came to a much denser forest. To his surprise, he had not heard the sounds of men up ahead as he expected he would. It was not until he stumbled through the brush that he discovered the reason for this—one man's remains laid spewed across the forest floor in many pieces. He could not recognize the individual because the head and upper torso were gone, but he immediately knew the cause was an animal attack. Human footprints leading away indicated that the other men had fled eastward during the attack. While it clearly had been an ambush, bullet indentations on nearby trees suggested the pirates had tried to kill the creature—whatever it was. It was unclear if the beast had been wounded, but large paw prints leading north left Jake with little doubt about the direction he should avoid heading in.

A sudden, intense pain struck the pirate's shoulder like a knife. Jake gasped and fell to his knees, placing a hand on the festering injury. He could feel blood and puss dripping through his fingers. The infection was getting worse with the heat and humidity. He searched frantically through the dead man's scattered belongings to find something to treat the wound with, but it appeared the others had snatched the most critical supplies as their mate was being eaten. Unable to travel any further, he finally collapsed and prayed for a miracle he would never receive.

…

Rolfe stalked through the burnt forest with Pocahontas in his arms. To his surprise, it took less than ten minutes to reach the edge of the forest from whence they had come. It only served as a reminder of how quickly the terrible flames had descended upon the subtropical woodland. Though he did not look closely, Rolfe thought he spotted black skeletal remains of some unfortunate creature partially buried in the ash as he emerged onto the unrecognizable riverbank.

He could do nothing but gape at first. The water in the narrow river had largely evaporated from the fire's intense heat, leaving nothing but a muddy trench in its wake. Rolfe knew immediately there was no way they would have survived if they had not followed Flit to the nearby beach. It was a certainly, and one that Rolfe dreaded to acknowledge.

Pocahontas did not seem too surprised by the river's desiccation. "The land will need a big rainstorm to refill the river. That may or may not happen anytime soon, so we need to keep heading north. Hopefully there will eventually be a river delta flooding into the sea that will be too wide for the wildfire to have crossed. The land on the other side should still be green, and provide food. Are you sure you can carry me that far, John?" she inquired in apprehensive tone.

Pocahontas's question knocked Rolfe out of his stupor rather quickly. "Not like this," he hesitantly replied. "My arms will tire. You'll need to hop up on my back. I'm sure I could carry you much further without resting in that manner."

Pocahontas nodded her agreement and Rolfe gently lowered her onto her good foot. Still providing her support, he pivoted his body around and crouched down, allowing her to jump up on his back. She wrapped her legs around his waist to keep herself in place and Rolfe laced his arms under her knees to give her extra support. "Comfortable?" he asked.

Pocahontas nodded softly as she draped her arms over his shoulders. They began to head north again at a good walking pace. Rolfe checked the compass to make sure the muddy riverbed was not veering them off course every thirty or so minutes. He was amazed at how far the ferocious forest fire had managed to travel in such a short time. On the plus side, its decimation of the troublesome forest debris made it much easier for him to walk fast without stumbling.

Several hours passed and the smoke cleared enough that the sun came into view as it leaned to the western horizon. The riverbed had narrowed further, breaking off to the west every now and again until the once-great waterway had been reduced to nothing but a shallow stream with barely a trickle of water in it. Pocahontas found herself lost in the emerging magenta-blue sky when she felt Rolfe stop suddenly. Glancing down at his face, she saw that his eyes were wild with fright. "John?" she said, worried. "What is it?"

Rolfe opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again. The look of terror on his face intensified. Pocahontas felt her heart pounding in her chest until Rolfe shook his head, thus restoring his wits. "Pocahontas… I think we need to be more careful about getting in the water around here from now on…" the man finally murmured as he stared down at the charred remains of what had once been a very large reptilian creature with enormous jaws and countless razor-sharp teeth.

Pocahontas squealed in alarm when she caught sight of it, clapping a hand over her mouth. She gaped at the skeleton as she felt Rolfe slowly back away. Whatever the animal was, it had been about the size of both of them combined. "I don't even want to know what that thing was… Let us just hope the living specimens don't run too fast if we have the misfortune of encountering one," he murmured, before mentally adding, _And God willing they be much smaller…_

"It looks like it had pretty short legs, whatever it was," Pocahontas uttered back as Rolfe climbed up the bank to pass by the carcass with as much distance between them and it as possible. Though it was stone cold dead, he still did not want to get anywhere near it.

"That doesn't mean anything. Snakes have no legs at all, yet some can slither faster than a human can run," Rolfe countered. Pocahontas gritted her teeth as she saw the fearless raccoon curiously crawl down the bank to sniff at the charred bones.

"Come on, Meeko. It's dead," she called to him. They marched on for another hour until a dank smell began to permeate the atmosphere around them. Rolfe and Pocahontas crinkled their noses as Meeko and Percy sniffed the air in curiosity. Pocahontas licked her fingertip and held it up to test the breeze. "The wind has stalled. In fact, I think it's begun drifting slightly south again," she told him. "Whatever that smell is, it's probably coming from up ahead."

Rolfe glanced up at the bare treetops, noting that the dying wisps of smoke from the wildfire had indeed shifted directions. "I wonder what it could be," he replied.

"No clue. Even swamps in my homeland do not smell that bad in the hottest part of summer," Pocahontas explained. She started to fan herself with her hand. "Speaking of heat, I can't wait to get up north again," she added with a tone of weariness to her voice.

"Agreed. Being so close to each other's body heat can't be helping us much. Maybe we should stop here for the night. Whatever is up ahead, I'd rather not face it in the dark," Rolfe replied, letting her slip down off his back.

"But I'm so thirsty," Pocahontas said. "And we ran out of water hours ago. It will be cooler to travel at night. We will lose less moisture that way." She stood on her good foot and pivoted around to get ahold of a charred tree trunk.

Rolfe suddenly collapsed in fatigue, groaning from the pain in his back and shoulders. He tried to pivot around, but his muscles felt very stiff. Doing his best to ignore the discomfort, he turned carefully to Pocahontas. "Yeah, I'm completely parched too. But I still get the feeling we're not going to find fresh water for a while. At least, let us take a small rest."

Pocahontas sighed and conceded to his request, lowering herself gently to the bank with his assistance. Rolfe scooped a pile of soft sand together to elevate her injured limb.

As Pocahontas let herself relax, she watched Meeko descend the shallow trench. Perhaps John and she were unwilling to drink the muddy water trickling in the streambed, but Meeko did not have such high standards. Neither did Percy, as he seemed to follow suit. As soon as Meeko sniffed the water however, he squealed in a high-pitched voice and made a beeline in the opposite direction.

Rolfe raised an eyebrow as he watched the raccoon run past them and climb up a charred tree faster than the nimblest squirrel. He glanced down the bank and watched Percy sniff the water as well. The pug dog had the exact same reaction and ran past the two of them yipping and yelping, nearly colliding with Pocahontas's injured ankle in the process. "What in the blazes is wrong with those two?" he said in bewilderment.

Out of curiosity, the Englishman rose to his feet and went over to the water. He cupped some of the muddy liquid in the palms of his hands and brought it up to his face to take a whiff. The next moment he did, an acute gag reflex assaulted his abdominal muscles. He jumped to his feet and frantically shook the putrid water off of his hands. "Oh, my God! That's absolutely revolting!" he cried.

"What is it, John?" Pocahontas replied, shifting herself slightly in the sand to get a better view of what he was doing.

"That smell… it's coming from the water! It's horrific! It's like something died in it, I tell you! Most disgusting thing I've ever… Ew! It's all over my hands!" he exclaimed, rubbing them dry in the white sand. "Well, I guess I should've just trusted Meeko and Percy's judgment and stayed clear of it."

"Wait, but…? Oh, no! John, if the water coming from the north is undrinkable now… what are we going to do? In this heat, we won't last long without water," Pocahontas cried in panic. "There might not be any good water for many miles, for all we know!"

Rolfe looked up at Pocahontas. "All we can do is keep travelling and hope we find some. Now hush, there's no use worrying over something we can't control," he retorted, rubbing his hands together to get the sand off. He began to walk back over to her. "Just our luck though. Nothing but saltwater and smelly freshwater around us for who knows how many—Oomph!" he said, abruptly cut off when he landed flat on his face.

While the sand had cushioned his fall, it had done nothing to assuage his rage. He glanced lividly down the bank to see what had tripped him. It looked like a big black rock lodged in the sand at first. There had not been many rocks along their route, especially ones the size of a human head, but Rolfe did not care. He still wanted to destroy the blasted thing with dynamite.

"What is that?" Pocahontas inquired as Rolfe furiously dug the offending item out of the ground. He pulled it up with little effort and heard something slosh around inside. His anger evaporated in an instant and he glanced at Pocahontas with a star struck expression. _"What?"_ she repeated, more urgently.

A grin slowly curled Rolfe's lips upward. "Pocahontas, I think God has seen fit to grant us an iota of mercy this fine evening," _though He certainly could've done so in a more dignified manner_, he internally sassed. Just then, a bug predictably flew into his eye. "Oh! Darn it!" he snapped, madly rubbing at his eyelid. He stumbled back and haphazardly dropped the coconut right next to Pocahontas, who picked it up.

The fire's heat had charred the outside, making it all the easier to get through to the fibrous husk. With a good bit of effort, Pocahontas was able to tear a small strand off. Her eyes brightened immediately. "A sweet nut!" she cried joyfully.

After he had cleared the bug out of his eye, Rolfe sat down beside her. "Yes, and where there's one, there's probably more," he said. "They seem to grow in clusters."

"Quick, open it! I'm so thirsty!" Pocahontas pled, pushing it into his hands.

"Alright, hold your horses," he replied, taking it from her. He tore the rest of the husk off with ease and poked open the three indentations on the top with a sharp stick before giving it back to Pocahontas.

She downed about half of the liquid savoring its sweetness until she noticed Rolfe walking away. "Where are you going? Don't you want some?" she asked, offering the nut to him.

He glanced over his shoulder at her. "I'm looking for more. I'm sure there's got to be some around here," he said, shuffling his feet around in the ashen debris by the forest. A few of the charred trees looked to be nut-bearers. He used his hands to dig through the sandy soot and eventually came up with something. "Ah, I found one! Go ahead and finish that one. We'll need enough to rehydrate all five of us to continue our journey. Meeko, Percy! Get over here and help. Sniff out some nuts for us, will you?"

Everyone but Pocahontas engaged in the search. Even Flit buzzed around in search of coconuts because the fire had burned up all the flowers in the forest. Like the rest of them, he would need the sweet coconut milk to survive until they reached fresh terrain. Of course, his consumption was very little so Pocahontas allowed him some of hers before she finished it up and split open the shell with her machete for the sweet white meat inside.

Together Rolfe, Meeko, Percy, and Flit were able to find seven charred coconuts along the forest's edge. Though they would still need more to fully rehydrate, it was enough to keep them alive for the time being. They drank five of the nuts, saving the last two for the next day's journey, and finished up the turtle meat and leftover coconut meat from the day before. Finally, they lay down in the sand to go to sleep

…

Though the blade had demanded the dog's pain to renew some of its energy, Adahy could not bring himself to torment the creature that had saved his life. He offered his own body instead, though the spirit sneered at his weak compassion. Though the agony that followed had been like nothing Adahy had ever felt, it had regenerated the dagger to the point that the spirit was in turn able to lend him more strength. Effectively, they had saved each other's lives. Limping along at a slow pace, he glanced back at the French hound following him. After he had used the blade to cut away the muzzle, the dog obediently carried the dagger in its mouth to ease its new master's burden. He smiled gently at the animal and kept moving.

All they needed now was a new host for the blade, and they needed one quick. Adahy had his eyes set on the treacherous scum who had left him for dead. He followed the tracks of Spike-Eyes' hunting party until he came to something quite unexpected. Up ahead it appeared the forest had been decimated by some out-of-control wildfire. He wondered if the northerly winds the previous night had inspired the wicked threesome to set the forest alight in an attempt to kill the fugitives. Knowing the habits of pirates, it would not surprise him if they had wearied of the search and found a way to get the crew back to treasure-hunting the Spaniards.

Even with the meager life-force the blade had lent him, Adahy felt their collective energies weakening. It would be all over if they did not find a victim soon. Adahy assessed the tracks to discover the pirates had passed the river to evade the fire. He carefully swam across, using his legs to propel himself through the slow-moving water. The level of the river had fallen immensely and the water barely moved at a snail's pace. This proved beneficial for Adahy, as it was much easier to cross a languid river without the use of his hands.

The French hound followed him across and they continued to follow the tracks on the western side of the deadened waterway. It appeared as if one of the pirates had separated from the others. Glancing across to the eastern side of the river, Adahy saw a long sword poking out of the ash at the trunk of a charred tree. It came to his awareness that a fight might have broken out, perhaps concerning the fire, though he could not guess the exact nature of the exchange.

Since ambushing a single man would be a much simpler task, Adahy followed the lone one's prints deep into the forest. When night fell, the French hound lent its nose to continue following their quarry though the tracks were no longer visible in the dark. What they came upon many miles later rather surprised and disappointed Adahy at first. Sparse moonlight showed the man—Demented Jake—lying unmoving on the littered ground. The dagger had no use for corpses, and Adahy cursed loudly to himself at the wretchedness of his luck.

The 'corpse' flinched at the sound of his voice, and Adahy's eyes widened in surprise. He heard Jake groan and weakly try to push himself up with his good arm. The copper-skinned man's first reaction was a fiendish manner of glee, and he suddenly felt amused when he thought he saw Jake's eyes light up. The fool thought Adahy was there to rescue him.

"I've been looking for you, mates. What manner of beast attacked the crew, eh?" Jake murmured in a disoriented tone.

"I have no idea what you are talking about," Adahy snapped back, frowning. If the man had gone insane, he would be of little use to the spirit in the blade. Lunatics provided only a fraction of the energy of sane men, for one reason or another.

Demented Jake gasped in recognition of the voice, and shot up despite the pain. He stared with wide eyes at Adahy's poorly lit figure in the moonlight. Jake was speechless at first, but then a look of horror slowly crept onto his visage. Fortunately he could not see the grin that crept onto Adahy's face at the sudden development.

"Brother, I'm glad you are alive," Jake began weakly, nervously. He shook his head, and grasped his shoulder as more puss oozed from the wound. "That cur Spike-Eyes… he never would have let me save you. I was going to, but he stopped me. We can hunt him down together. Help me and I will help you. I can be your hands!" he frantically pled as the threatening warrior approached.

Adahy's grin fell from his face and he glanced down at the two stumps where his hands had once been. He gritted his teeth. _"He is more useful to us as harvest. Don't trust his lies. His kind never keeps their word,"_ the dagger whispered to him in a weak voice. It must have sensed a feeding was coming, or else it would not have bothered to waste energy by speaking.

"I know…" Adahy whispered back in a low tone.

Jake grinned, breathing a quiet sigh of relief. "You'll help me then? Where is your pack? I need ale or rum… something, anything to disinfect the wound," he replied, apparently under the impression Adahy had been addressing him.

Adahy looked down at him darkly as his tattooed face finally came into a beam of moonlight. He used one of his stump-wrists to rub his chin. "I've got a better idea," he countered. He whistled to the dog and the animal trotted over to him. Adahy grabbed the dagger between his two stumps and looked fiendishly down at his victim as the blade began to glow, glowing red against his face in a demonic manner. "Send my regards to the Devil, will you?"

…

To avoid causing suspicion, Flame had to suppress his inward glee at how well the plan had worked. Through careful eavesdropping, he had not only discovered Legless to be the culprit spreading the rumors, but he had even successfully nipped the first whisperings of mutiny in the bud. When the watchman discovered Rolfe's marred black boot floating near the ship, Flame sent a few men to the shore. They confirmed the Englishman had escaped the wildfire to the beach, leaving a trail behind when he had reentered the forest thereafter. Two minutes after the news of survival reached the Blood Draw, the First Mate was found dead in his cabin in the exact same manner as Bleud.

Flame reacted with feigned shock and terror, thus urging the crew that they could not stray from their mission lest the same horrible fate happen to all of them. This pronouncement spurred them all into action, their fear of the fabled Aztec spirits renewed. With things back under the Irishman's control, he had signaled the hunting parties with cannon fire and led half the Draw's remaining crew to the beach to pursue Rolfe's tracks.

One thing bothered Flame though. There was only one set of human tracks on the beach, and he clearly remembered that two people had escaped from the ship—a white man and an Indian woman. Furthermore the tracks leading away from the beach had been made with two boots, but Rolfe had apparently lost one of his in the surf. No one seemed to have an explanation for any of this, though Flame overheard one of the crewmembers griping that the woman must have perished in the wildfire.

It seemed the men thought the search would be nothing but a chore without a wench to make it all worthwhile in the end. The crew's floundering morale concerned Flame, so he was grateful for a distraction that cropped up a few minutes later. Spike-Eyes and Manslaughter emerged through the burned woodland with one of the hounds from the hunt. The Bosun was the first to catch sight of them, and he whistled to Captain Flame.

"We heard the signal, Captain," Spike-Eyes announced as they approached. "What's happened? We've been following their trail for days. We almost had 'em a way's back, but then that idiot Jake started a forest fire and nearly got us killed. The fool died in his own flames."

Flame sneered at them. "Almost had 'em, did ye? Where are the other two parties? And what about Adahy? Did you catch any sign of him? The Injun fool was supposed to prevent the fugitives from getting this far north to begin with!" he snapped angrily.

"Aye but the man failed, Captain. We found his corpse along the river, we did. He bled to death after Rolfe lopped off his other hand!" Manslaughter proclaimed. "The fugitive's armed and dangerous," he said, and then shrugged. "Either that, or the Injun was never as tough as he pretended to be."

"I suspect a combination of the two," Spike-Eyes muttered, suppressing a snicker.

Flame's eyes widened in surprise, and then he slapped his forehead. "Never send an Injun to do a real man's job," he chided himself, snarling in aggravation.

Spike-Eyes and Manslaughter burst out laughing. "That's what we was thinking when we came upon the daft dead fool. But alas, we're concerned our quarry might've been lost in the fire. What should we do now, Captain?" Spike-Eyes inquired.

Flame immediately held up Rolfe's burned boot. "The Spaniard survived—that's for certain. He fled the fire to the beach, as we found his tracks in the sand. No sign of the wench though. She might very well have perished, for all we know thus far," he replied. "Or perhaps they were merely separated. It's hard to say."

Manslaughter and Spike-Eyes raised their brows, and then looked at each other in confusion. "Spaniard?" they inquired in unison, glancing back at Flame with perturbed looks on their faces.

One of the lesser men in Flame's crew stepped forward, amused. "Aye, Rolfe was a Spaniard in disguise, a spy against the English crown. Our good Captain here found a document identifying him as such," the man said, only to get wrapped in the back of the head by said Captain.

"I'm tellin' the story, thank ye very much!" Flame snapped, browbeating the pirate into a corner with his fierce gaze. He turned back to Spike-Eyes and Manslaughter. "Aye, it be true. Rolfe's real name is Juan Ignacio. A talented actor, is he not? Had us all convinced he was of pureblooded English ancestry. Methinks he had been trained for years as a spy in his homeland, perhaps even from childhood. We don't know what his mission was precisely, but we do know it was top-secret. Even King James wanted the information kept under wraps. We don't know why just yet, but we think unraveling the mystery could help bring down the Spanish empire. Just think of all the gold! But we've got to find that damned Spaniard first."

Spike-Eyes and Manslaughter's visages gleamed with untapped greed and they grinned widely at the mere suggestion. "Juan Ignacio, eh? Well, I don't know about you all, but I've got to find out the full truth and nothing but the truth so help me, dog!" Spike-Eyes declared, leaning down to pat the aforementioned pooch on the head. "Can ye show us to the trail this 'Ignacio' fellow left so Françoise can pick up the scent again? The fire destroyed the trail we were following through the forest."

Flame presented Rolfe's melted footwear to Françoise. She readily sniffed the item and then turned her attention to the surrounding environment, taking a whiff here and there. At first it looked like she was not getting anywhere with smoke still heavy in the air, but suddenly they all saw her cock her nose in a northwesterly direction.

"She's got it, Captain!" Spike-Eyes cried. "Good girl, Françoise! Lots of treats for you tonight, old girl!" he said, patting the canine on her side.

Flame raised his sword to the northwest. "After him, men! Let's put this wild goose chase to rest once and for all so we can all get our gold!" he loudly announced. The men were about to roar in agreement, but Manslaughter raised both hands to silence them before they could.

"We've got to remain quiet. If 'Ignacio' knows we're coming, he'll run. Best to ambush him unawares! That's why we muzzled Françoise, to keep the dogs from barking and alerting the quarry," Manslaughter said.

"Good thought," Flame replied, clapping Manslaughter on the back. "Come on, men. Let's get going, and I want to hear nothing but whispers from the lot of you from here on out!" With that, the band of pirates began following Spike-Eyes and Françoise through the sparse woodland to find the escapees.

…

Rolfe awoke at the crack of dawn from a terrifying nightmare. The fleeting image of glowing red eyes in darkness flashed through his mind before he became fully awake, having little recollection of the details of the dream. He jumped to his feet, glancing around warily. No one else stirred except Percy. The pug dog cracked an eye open at the sound of Rolfe moving about.

Rolfe looked down at him. "I get the feeling we need to get moving again," he whispered. "Can you wake up Meeko and Flit for me?" Rolfe stretched his back out and hissed in pain at the stiffness. The long journey with a full-grown woman on his back had not been easy on him, and he knew it was not over yet. So he prepared himself as best he could by stretching out his aching body and doing a few jumping jacks to get the blood flowing.

Since Pocahontas was still asleep, and obviously very tired, he elected to carry her bridal style without waking her up for the first few miles. Rolfe knew intuitively that he had to give her time to heal. She would need food, water, and rest to recover her mobility. The only food they had left was coconut meat and milk, and no water, so he carried her north in pursuit of life-giving sustenance.

A few miles later, the sulfurous stench in the air thickened and roused Pocahontas from her slumber. The ground beneath Rolfe's boots had turned to sticky, clay-like mud and made squishing and slurping sounds as he trudged through it. "I get the feeling we're heading into a swamp," he said as her eyes fluttered open. She crinkled her nose. "Care to hop on my back again?" he inquired, hoping to get her mind off the horrid smell. "My arms are getting tired."

"Ugh, it's sickening," Pocahontas murmured, glancing into the bubbly yellowish water in the stream trench. Regardless of her disgust, she readily complied with Rolfe's request. He placed her standing on a burned log with her good foot so she could jump up onto his back without getting muddy. "Well on the positive side, we don't have much food anyway," she said, trying to get comfortable. "At least with the stink we won't have to worry about developing appetites around here."

"True…" Rolfe replied. He glanced upwards as the emergent sun lit up the dark blue sky through the bare trees. Dawn was coming in an orange rim around the horizon, carrying with it a heavy stagnant mist that obscured the woodland ahead. Rolfe held the compass close at hand, squinting to see the needle's location in the dim light. They were going slightly westward, so he corrected their path to ensure they kept heading straight north. The streambed was heading inland, and soon enough it had disappeared into the dark forest.

The worst possibility Rolfe could think of was what would happen if they travelled too far inland and got hopelessly lost in the vast untamed wilderness, so he made it a priority to stay as close to the east coast as possible. "The map says nothing about a swampland like this. The whole area was left mostly blank. I don't think this place has been much explored, at least not by the French or Spanish."

"Perhaps they do not like cold weather and prefer to keep to the south," Pocahontas suggested with a small shrug, resting her chin on his shoulder as she glanced down at the compass in his hand.

Rolfe slogged along through the foul-smelling bog. As the terrain got slipperier and soggier, he had to exert himself more and more just to walk in a straight line. Pocahontas had to do all the work clinging to his back because he needed his hands free to grab the charred trees and keep balance. It was slow-going, but there appeared to be no way around it as a shaft of light shone through the trees revealed the beach had turned to dense mangroves along the shoreline far east. There was no sand to be seen. Better to slog through a stinking mudland than try to push an injured woman through a nearly impenetrable wall of branches and aerial roots, Rolfe figured.

As they travelled on the mud deepened and the sky lightened. They discovered that many low-lying plants had escaped the flames that had decimated the canopy. As much as Rolfe wanted to rest after an hour or so, he had to keep going because there was literally nowhere to sit down. When the muck got deep and thick enough, John heard the sound of whining behind them and had to backtrack about twenty paces to rescue Percy from the sludge.

Unlike Meeko, who could climb, and Flit, who could fly, Percy had four short legs and no way of getting through the deep muck unassisted. Pocahontas put the dirty pooch on her shoulder. Even though Percy was light compared to Pocahontas, the addition of yet another weight pained Rolfe's already aching back and shoulders.

As the hours passed, the mudland turned to swampland. The water gradually deepened until Rolfe was just up to his thighs. He told Pocahontas to grab hold of an overhead branch so he could boost her up onto his shoulders. She held Percy in one hand and the branch in another as they repositioned themselves.

Rolfe figured it was bad enough that he had to wade through the putrid water. He saw no point in making Pocahontas come in contact with it as well. Besides in the new position he was able to keep his back straighter, which turned out to be less strenuous for him. Flies and mosquitos buzzed about, pestering the two of them to the point of near-insanity.

"John, I don't know how much more of this I can take. They keep swarming around my eyes. I can hardly see anything," Pocahontas told him, batting the air in front of her face repeatedly. Flit tried to help by snapping up as many mosquitos as he could, but there were just too many. With a pebble-sized stomach, there was not much the hummingbird could do for her.

"I know what you mean. At least we don't have to worry about hostile tribes while we're here. No sane man would make berth anywhere near such a place as this," Rolfe replied as he trudged into the ever-deepening water. It was now up to the level of his waist. _"Though I admit I utterly despise bugs,"_ he added as yet another mosquito buzzed into and out of his ear.

Pocahontas groaned in aggravation. "I've got an idea. It can't be much worse than this. Just follow my lead," she said, slipping deftly down from his back. She waded carefully into the warm swamp water and lowered herself to chest-level. Percy whimpered nervously and climbed up onto her shoulder to keep out of the nasty water.

"Be careful, Pocahontas! I don't want you to hurt your ankle," Rolfe countered, observing her. By now, their olfactory senses had grown immune to the stench, but it still surprised John when she handed Percy to him and dove beneath the surface. She came up with two handfuls of muck from the bottom and slopped it all over her head and shoulders, covering every patch of exposed skin.

"It makes it harder for them to bite us," Pocahontas explained. He scrunched his face up at what she was asking him to do. Being covered in reeking mud head to toe was not his idea of a good time, but he did see her point. He was being eaten alive, and he knew it. He was about to hand Percy back to her with the pug dog abruptly jumped out of his arms and into the water. The canine had figured out he was not going to be able to avoid the water forever, so he decided to take the plunge himself rather than have someone else force it upon him. Rolfe shrugged and hung his pack on a low-lying branch, reluctantly sliding down into the swamp water. Like Pocahontas, he emerged with a bunch of mud. He could not help grimacing at it before he started slapping it all over his head, face, neck, and shoulders. To his surprise, he found the smooth coolness of the mud soothed the itching bug bites all over his flesh.

Pocahontas took the survival pack from the limb and tied it tightly to the top of her head with the straps, effectively keeping it out of the water. Meeko waddled over on the same tree limb and gently dropped the turtle shell down onto Rolfe's muddied head, squeaking in laughter. Rolfe glanced at him in annoyance, but Pocahontas hardly took notice. Like a slow-moving otter, she began to paddle through the swamp with Percy and Flit in quick pursuit. Though he was not too skilled at crawling through mud, the pug dog was an adept swimmer.

When Rolfe realized he was being left behind, he dove forward to catch up with them. They swam their way through a maze of trees that seemed to stretch on forever. Meeko had to enter the water eventually when the trees and branches became too sparse to travel by hopping from limb to limb. The muckland had opened up into a wide swamp, and although the water seemed putrid to them, more and more animals were beginning to appear. From colorful dragonflies, to tiny water turtles, to large wading birds the smelly slough was full of life.

The only thing Rolfe worried about now was that they might come upon a large, toothy, reptilian predator, and he was thankful he had seen none thus far. Pocahontas's mud idea seemed to be working like a charm. Something about the cool muck acted as a type of camouflage against the pests. There were still plenty of flies and mosquitos buzzing about the swamp, but they were no longer swarming exclusively around the two hot-blooded human beings.

"Keep an eye out for one of those monsters, Pocahontas," Rolfe whispered. "If worse comes to worse, we've still got the pistol in the pack on your head. We can use it if we must."

Pocahontas glanced back at him nonchalantly, and kept swimming. "Whatever that skeleton was it did not belong to a monster, John. It was just a big animal, not an evil demon. I'm sure it hunted for its food, but so do my people. That doesn't make us monsters, does it?" she countered, giggling as she paddled along ahead of him.

"It does to whatever you're hunting," Rolfe teasingly shot back. "I consider anything big enough to eat me a monster thank you very much and there's nothing you can do about it, Miss High and Mighty!" In response to his indignant tone, Pocahontas giggled at him and splashed him. "Hey!" he protested. "No splashing me with smelly swamp water. That's just nasty!"

Pocahontas shrugged. "You're already covered in it." She suddenly sped up her pace, paddling through the swamp like a graceful duckling. Percy and Meeko had no problem keeping up with her, and they swam along on each side of her.

"Careful, love. There could be rocks. You don't want to risk hitting your bad ankle on one, now do you?" Rolfe inquired, doggy-paddling as fast as he could to keep up with them. Cypresses and other swamp trees towered overhead, only their uppermost foliage having been grazed by the wildfire. The area as a whole was just too wet to burn to the ground like the hammocks and flatlands. Pocahontas, Meeko, Percy, and Rolfe swam around massive tree trunks and ducked under fallen branches as they continued northward.

A while later, Rolfe caught sight of something to Pocahontas's far left. She seemed not to notice, so he silently waded over to it. Pocahontas gasped when she heard a loud splash behind her. She, Meeko, Percy, and even Flit stopped in their tracks and snapped their heads back to see what had caused the noise. Rolfe burst through the surface of the sludgy green water with a wide grin on his mud-dripping face.

Pocahontas raised an eyebrow. "John, you scared me! What is it?" she inquired, pivoting around fully to face him.

In response to her question, Rolfe pulled a fat bullfrog out of the water. "I caught something! We've finally got meat again! Now all we've got to do is get out of this swamp and find a place to cook it!" he proudly announced.

Pocahontas curled her lip and felt her stomach churn at the suggestion. "You want me to eat swamp frog?" she asked hesitantly.

Rolfe's face fell when he heard the tone in her voice. He had thought she would be proud of him. The disinterested creature inflated its throat sac, and Rolfe frowned at it. "B-but the French consider it a delicacy! They're supposed to taste just like chicken meat!" he whined in disappointment. "The legs are the best part…"

Pocahontas frowned too, realizing that she had unintentionally insulted him. She swam over to John and took the frog from him, holding it up out of the water to get a good look at it. She had to admit that it did have pretty fat legs. While she did not find the idea of eating frog particularly appetizing, she had to admit the creature was impressive in size. Not as big as the turtle she had caught, but big enough to sustain them for a while longer for sure… if she could stomach it. "Well… it is pretty big. Good job, John!" she said, grinning at him.

Rolfe was about to smile back at her, but then a disturbing thought suddenly occurred to him. "You're not… um… going to kill it right now, are you?" he hesitantly inquired, poking his fingers together nervously.

Pocahontas shook her head, and he sighed in relief. "No, I wouldn't want the swamp water to contaminate the meat. Hold it until we get to dry land," she said, handing the amphibian back to him. He nodded as Pocahontas lowered herself back into the water chin-deep, swimming away. Rolfe quickly followed, holding the frog's head above the water to prevent it from drowning as he paddled along with his feet.

…

When Françoise sniffed the putrid water in the depleted streambed, she whimpered loudly and backed away. In the back of the group, some of the men were getting irritable. "This place reeks like Dirty Dave's socks!" Buckshot bellyached aloud. The mentioned individual clapped him sharply on the back of the head for the haphazard insult. "Watch it!" Buckshot snapped, rubbing his head as he brandished his sword.

Ignoring the two nitwits, the Bosun walked up behind Flame out ahead of the group. "The tracks lead straight into the swamp. It's hard to imagine anyone would be desperate enough to go in there, unless they somehow realized we're still following them. How could they know? We've been keeping the men and the hound silent all night," he told the Captain.

"The Spaniard is afeared of us, Bosun. He knows his neck is on the line and won't take any chances of us catching up to him," Flame countered. Suddenly an ominous grin lit up his gnarled face. "But he's underestimated us, of course. We'll head him off." He turned to the twenty-eight pirates that he had brought to shore and picked ten out of the group. "You men are to stay here and spread out along the edge of the swamp so Ignacio cannot backtrack on us. The rest of ye follow me back to the ship to head him off northward past the swampland. The fool will have nowhere to go. He'll have to face us eventually, or die mired in the bog's pestilence. Onward!"

They left the ten men armed along the south edge of the swamp and returned to the ship. It was not until they had gotten back to the Blood Draw that Spike-Eyes and Manslaughter learned of the untimely deaths. Spike-Eyes in particular found it hard to believe that Bleud had met his demise, but he was delighted when Flame appointed him as the new First Mate of the ship.

As the Blood Draw sailed northward, the spindly man keeping watch noted that the swamplands seemed to stretch on and on for many miles. Spike-Eyes stood with the watchman near the helm as they chitchatted about the scant possibility of 'Ignacio' even making it out alive. Françoise, the French hound, obediently sat at Spike-Eyes' heel, as she seemed to consider the large man her master above all the others.

Despite the weak winds, the current along the shoreline carried them at a swift pace past the seemingly endless miles of swampland. When the mangroves at last gave way to white sand beach, the Captain announced their arrival. The ship was anchored and most of the crew disembarked. Flame, the Bosun, Spike-Eyes, and Françoise were on the first boat to shore. The crew's first initiative was to check along the north edge of the swamp to ensure the fugitives had not outpaced them, and the hound's skillful nose confirmed that Rolfe had yet to arrive in the area. With that, the men set up multiple points of ambush along the perimeter and they laid in wait with the hope that their hapless quarry would fall right into their trap.


End file.
